Sick

You care about me, but right now, it’s too hard to admit.
Just give me a while; I just need a bit.
A bit of time to sort out what’s going on in my head.
To you right now, I know I must seem dead,
But I’m not dead. I’m just sick. I’m fighting just to be.
Right now, I need time, time to rediscover me.
I know the plainness of my face must seem like a mask.
But if I wanted your help, I would have asked.

I’m sick. I know.  I admit it.
But please leave.  Right now.  I can handle it.
It’s my problem.  Not yours.  I’ll manage it.
I’ll get through it.  I don’t need you.  So forget it.

Right now, I hurt; I don’t want to hurt you too.
But if you stay and you care, it’s something I know that I will do.
I know I’ll say some things that I really don’t mean.
So just leave me alone; right now, I don’t want to be seen.
I can do it alone. Alone I can work things through.
This is my problem, not yours; It’s not about you.
So respect me, honor that, and leave right away.
Though I’m sick now, I’ll soon be okay.

Written about an individual who is going through a difficult time, but is unwilling to accept the help, the sympathy, or the empathy of anyone who offers a lending hand. The first stanza is what the individual wants to say to all of the people who are trying to get him to share his grief with them. Rather than saying this, however, he gives the auto-response of "I'm okay." He also knows if the same people continue to insist on helping him, he will lash out at them. This is what he is referring to in the second stanza.

Written in 2002

Copyright, The Poetry of Bryan Buser