He could love others, perhaps,
If he thought it would fill him up
Any better than being loved by others—
And by himself, of course.
But that has never seemed
A promising proposition—
And for reasons he is likely
Never to explore.
But there’s no need for that,
Since he’ll settle for
The admiration of others
Or their respect
Or their deference,
From whatever cause—
And their obedience, of course—
If he has any angle to work for
Being the boss of them.
And he makes do somewhat,
Though he’s generally mad at the world
For not filling him up as much
As to which he is entitled—
And nervous that at the least little trouble
His house of cards might fall apart.
And in return, many in the world,
Who are of the sort to see past
His empty gaslighting,
Find themselves wishing
That he would go away—
Either that, or that he’d figure out that
He could love others, perhaps.
But most of them will put up with him,
As if his chosen way of life
Were a viable option after all—
As respectable matter of personal choice.
And few love him enough
To refuse to play his stupid game.