Love is wasted on the dead

Is death the end of your story or the beginning of your tale?

The living are hated, judged and ridiculed.

One does not truly know their worth until she is not around.

Even the abusers get offended when they can’t eulogise.

Those who tormented you, beat you and left you scarred - they too will praise a corpse.

But what is the point of love when it’s only felt by the dead.

What is the point of good when it’s only when someone experiences loss.

The insincerity of man to care only when you’re gone.

This is not love, this is not endearment. This is guilt - pity.

They left her, ostracised her made her feel unworthy.

They didn’t have space for her in their lives but now have space for her spirit.

Ghosts don’t take up space - they don’t need applauds.

Human gestures are lost in them.

But those same bones that you had tears for in the dirt, needed the endearment when walking.

That same name that you claim to have loved deserved that respect when she was talking.

You can pretend to have been righteous but you and me know when she needed you most, you were the one who acted like a ghost.