Grave

By Anita Ruthjersen

When will the pain of the grave you placed me in start to fade? 

Is the dirt going to grow heavier?

 Or will the shame force a cave in? 

Is there something you wish to share at the eulogy of my fate?

 Or is my smile something you cannot face?

What pushed you to hate me so anyway?

 It’s not as though I did anything to disobey.

There were rules to follow, and I followed every day.

So why did you push me to be in this pain? 

Did I surface something you haven’t yet paid?

Maybe that is the penance you had to make, 

you had to hurt me in order to find some version of sane. 

And if that’s what I have to be then maybe that’s okay, 

maybe this is the way you deal with your shame.

I think I’m okay with being the thing you gave away, 

because I have found a way to live without you anyway. 

By Anita Ruthjersen