So I called to say hello. But you were too busy to talk to me. Maybe I didn’t say enough, so you assumed I had nothing to say. Maybe you have such a full life you simply couldn’t fit me in.
I’m not family, not flesh and blood, not your lover, nor your child. Who am I, but a vagrant dog. A stray, with no gold or silver to offer up a platter.
I had no place to go the other day, so I stopped by your house. It was all shut up, like you’d been away. Of course you were. It was the weekend. Families do things together on weekends.
Don’t you worry about my broken heart, don’t you worry about my soul. If I couldn’t put a price on my own life, how could I expect you to?
I guess I wanted to belong so badly that I assumed I could force my way in. Make you love me, maybe even care.
But there’s only so much we each can do in life. Only so much that we can give.
That’s alright. I understand how there just wouldn’t be enough for me. There wasn’t enough in my own family either. Never enough to go around. It always ran out when it came to me.
So I understand.
I’ll just sit on the side of the street here and watch the trucks go by. Or I’ll drive down to the railroad tracks and count the trains that go by. Maybe I’ll hop on board one day, and go far away. Maybe I'll fall beneath its wheels, crushed to a bloody death. What would it matter, and who would know?