Who am I

Instinctively I reassure

I am polite in crisis,

That’s me, oh boy, what

A specimen indeed

My mother taught me

Never to create a scene

Everywhere therefore

I stay invisible

No crying child, I

Grieve in private, within

My safe cocoon

Not to trouble others

Broken, hollowed and

Beaten down, without

Any hope of remedy

I am but a lost cause

I soothe and support

I bolster the other

While I labor to breathe

I’m the wind beneath their wings

Bemused

Homemade, she added in haste

Why are egos fragile and misplaced?

What is it about self-worth?

There seems to be a dearth.

Promote thyself with all one’s might

But, why of other, add a slight

Clichéd adage, a bell does ring

If nothing good to say, say nothing

Ribbing in jest is how it begins

Humor, the perpetrator feigns

Until there’s no hope of return

While the other burns in scorn

Time and again, young and old

The pattern, cannot be foretold

A lack of empathy for fellow being

The graciousness is fleeing.