I Do Care

I do care.
With a caring done too few accept.
But I can't just neglect or pretend,
Reality to face...
Some would rather leave unmentioned,
For something more suitable...
With a sweetened taste.

If I were rich and had conflicts with greed,
Perhaps recommended visits to see a psychiatrist...
I would consider.
But I never lived being restricted by political correctness.
Or thought I should be apologetic,
To that which I observed...
Others did not have the courage to see.

I do care.
With a caring done too few accept.
I am often told what I mention offends.
As if I initiated a creating of my own visions.
I 'may' take a creative position to write what I see.
But to exaggerate with embellishment?
I do this less frequently.

I do care.
I care enough to give my perspective,
On what affects those who appear physically like me.
I pride myself on being who I am.
And as a nonfiction writer of poetry...
I am blessed with the gift of 'honesty'.
With a doing not intended to offend those pretentious.

I do care, however...
Hiding behind lies to protect those with excuses to make,
With their kept alibis to deny...
I can not say I have a craving to protect them.
Or do I contemplate stepping lightly around their delusions.
Since those deluded with wished deceptions to make,
Have never been close to be called the best of my friends.

Take me or leave me it has been done before.
But to be lonely?
With all of this 'reality' going on?
To be refused and not accepted?
To be neglected and not respected?
I don't think so. Not by me from my perspective.
I care to much for it to have it leave me alone.
I'm approachable. It can have me anytime it wants.
Come here, baby. Come to poppa!

by Lawrence S. Pertillar

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