Conflict

By Michael T. Smith

When you told me that I was beautiful,

I had no choice but to shrug those words off,

tip my shoulder like I was pouring full

a drink: the toast to which my faults we’d quaff.

When you told me that I was kindhearted

I had to qualify it – pulling out

a godly “possibly,” my lips did part.

Unable to accept, your words I flout.

When you told me that I had such talent 

With a misleading grin your praise I did halt

for only ‘gainst myself am I gallant

Like lines geographic I laid my fault.

 But when you called me depressed to my face

I wondered how you could then join the chase.

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Michael T. Smith is an Associate Professor of English who teaches both writing and film courses. He has published roughly 300 pieces (poetry and prose) in over 100 different journals.