I Wouldn'T Complain Poem by Raihana Abdul Jabbar

I wouldn't complain,
About the eerie silences,
About the stench of alcohol,
Or the pungent cigarette breath,
And burns on my skin.
I wouldn't complain of your thousand vices.
I'll make do with the dead weight,
Of your unconsciousness and my fragile conscience.
I wouldn't complain, of the sombre mask,
Speechless moments, or unexplained sins.
I'll feed and clothe myself,
And go about, ridding the place,
Of vomit and vestiges of beastly rage.
I wouldn't complain, no, not once,
About any of those screaming scars,
Mind and body.
'Cause, a jar of marbles,
Stays on top of the bedroom cabinet.
each green orb, a moment of clarity.
That fraction of time,
When you hide your face,
Beneath the very same collar bone.
When you look frayed and beaten.
That time, when you walk on broken glass,
And you know you need me.
I'm bruised and silent.
I would never complain.
No judge comprehends,
The amusing anomaly of my withered self,
They call it psychosis,
I call it love.