Do you think yourself tragic…
a wounded heart that I should pour blessings on,
offer up my spirit to heal?
No amount of light I could pour in
would break the happily self-imposed doom.

Does your mirror reflect
shattered beauty?
A starry-eyed damsel holding on to love?
My eyes see a petulant child
who insanely repeats the same steps…
so sure this time she’ll get a different outcome.

You crave my indulgence,
to listen with bated breath
and then agree that “oh the world did you wrong.”
You want my support,
for me to watch you slice your heart open again
and praise you for your steadfast romanticism.

Darling girl,
a friend I will be,
a steadfast ear,
a river of support in a desert of cruelty
but never an advocate for your
self-indulgent woe-is-me tragedy.

Here you won’t find such sympathy.