I wanted to be sad when you left us.
But I couldn't.
You still loved me.

I wanted to be sad when you became a trucker.
But I couldn't.
You needed the money.

I wanted to be sad when you moved.
But I couldn't.
You loved him.

I wanted to be sad when you missed it.
But I couldn't.
You didn't have the money.

Now, I want to be sad because it's over.
But I can't.
You're both adults, with the right to make your own choices.

I want to be sad because you weren't faithful, weren't calm, even though he deserved it.
But I can't.
You stopped disappointing me long ago.
____________________________________________________________
This is not an angry poem, though it should be. This is a sick poem, a tired poem. I'm not sure who the selfish one is anymore. ~ Maria Hope