Lack

He carried lack in his pocket
and took it out way too much
rolling it over in his hand
liking the familiar feel of it
no matter how it stole from him
even when it always left him wanting
and impossible it was
not to transfer that lack into the corners of his life
and into the open spaces too
rubbing it off on the people he loved
those people who would also never measure up
always the residue of lesser than
haunting the places where things are not said
but always felt
always wondered
but never given life or breath....
and what would be the use?
For as long as lack has a cozy place in his pocket
fulfillment and peace will elude him
not able to share the same space.

~C




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