Giving of myself,
In charity of purpose,
Is most unlike me.
It is reminiscent of desperation.
An uneasy portrayal,
For it links so close.
Like a relief of my face.
I have gone past that.
With good thoughts and hard work.
I give myself to nothing,
In enhancement of lies.
I am free with my gifts,
Because my chains have lost their weight.
I do not regard you solemnly,
Because I have no wish to lie to you.
I am not good.
For no man is saintly.
But I am well, no longer in regression.
And I can be of service.
Only if you’ll have me.
And only when I choose to offer.
Do not sacrifice me in your thoughts.
It is not compassion to be fair.