It's easy to cry
and not be noticed.
To hide yourself away
beneath a veneer
for fear of cracks
and dammit-
you were going to write a poem
for a friend's birthday
even though he doesn't deserve it
but fuckit-
you have nothing now.

nothing to give.
nothing to hold.
nothing to comfort.

what good
is this
pride,
this self worth,
in the face of
all your miserable failings
and the ways you don't measure up.