Hate Mail

It is easy to write hate mail, just as it is easy
to confess a secret to a stranger. It is just as easy
to keep your head down and not make
eye contact on the train.

I spend a lot of my time being unfair.
I spend a lot of my time not knowing the full story.

It is easy to wrap ribbons around the details,
place your finger in the middle and have someone else
tie the knot. It is easy to see things as black or white,
and it is easy to judge a sweater on a hanger
in your great aunt's closet.

Because she would regularly donate
her fat clothes to you,
it is easy to judge what you do not want.

It is easy to be human, in other words.
It is far easier to be right and narrow.
It is far easier to make mistakes
every day and blame someone else.

I blame myself for being a placeholder.
I blame myself for being a bookmark
in a novel you promised to finish.
You promised ten years ago,
and I promised to wait.