Standing tall at the alter smile pasted on, eyes misty groomed and polished attending all social niceties Mind chatter buffered incapable of feeling love giving love despite effort I am defective Promises made and partially intended trying to avoid harm but we will be upended because I am defective My backdoors are found in others who fawn and dote and of course there's mother because I am defective
Wow, what a story–the repetition of the “defective” one is gut-punching. “My backdoors are found in others / who fawn and dote” wow. So much comes back to the title of this strong poem.