What do you say, when you talk about your mistakes?
That you tried? That you tried it all, and all that it takes?
Did you make up a story where you are the one in distress?
Or do you own up, say ‘I was wrong‘ and simply confess?
Do you say, that I regret, regret that I misunderstood.
Or do you let you a cry, screaming ‘How could you?!‘
Would you lean back, nursing a glass or two-
And contemplate the ways you were played through
Figuring you could learn from it, the world’s ways,
The next time, some one again tries to play you.
People call you emotional, missing the big picture,
Sentimental, for all the trivial joys you try to capture;
A fool: who thought with the heart, felt with the head
And cried invisible tears, when people moved away.
There’s only a single path to love, or so you thought
For that’s the only way that you had ever sought
But there were more roads, not simple, that lead-
To the complicated and unfathomable, that others need.
But the irony of it all, was the fallacy in you all along.
To think that there was some one, any one, who would see,
Your worth, in which you yourself never truly did believe-
How could someone else love you, when you yourself would not?
She sat by herself, in beauty, and ugliness in her soul
Twisted, turned and cast aside, she basked all alone.
Used, hated or merely forgotten, she’d live the pain.
She had survived before, and she’d do it once again.
P.S. Some things are best left unsaid, but some things clog you up from inside that need to be purged in some form or other. And somehow there’s beauty in all of them. I wish I could write when I am happy. ~G.
