Disappointment

"I'm disappointed in you."
We say it as if there's always an expectation, a wall to hit.
As if we are a mirror of each other and one is supposed to make the other better
As if your failure is a shattered fragment of my own ego
With an infinity sign connecting the two.

One passes judgment on the other, because in them they see their own error:
A hoarse, strung-out vocal limping of a singer whom you knew was better,
A hoodwinked audience
Subjected to an instead-fizzled out drama and nonconfrontation.
We reach the hand inside our opposite and come up with nothing but heart.

I must admit, I had not known the poison of suffering as you did
Or walking a mile in your shoes.
I must admit it now.
But even so,
I was disappointed.
We chuckle this mouthful to ourselves, selfishly.