I Can't Please You

I'm sorry that I can't

Please you.

That I can't bend my

Spirit, my will, my existence

Into a pretzel for you to

Consume and find a bit

Of satisfaction for a fraction 

Of a millennia

I'm sorry that I

Can't please you,

That I can't put my life 

On hold to collect directives

On how to make your life

Easier, better, happier,

Even though you have yet to

Set directives for yourself.

I'm sorry that 

I can't please you,

That I've failed in the mission

Once again. A mission

That was not mine in

The first place. A mission that

Has left me battle weary,

Embittered and tired,

Oh, so tired.

What's that?

You need what?

To do what for what is not

For my better good?

To do what that strips

Me of my agency?

I'm sorry

That I can't please you.

That's it.

No ramblings.

No explanations.

No reasons why

I'm not jumping at your

Beck and call.

I can't please you.

I've accepted it.

I've come to terms with it.

I've settled into it like enjoying

A fine glass of wine,

A hot cup of coffee,

The view of an endless horizon

That curves just that little bit at

The corners.

I can't please you...

And I'm not sorry about that.

Photo by Thaynara Picoloto de Campos on Unsplash