Sunday, March 3, 2013

cycles of hurt, expressed

It's futile. I'm futile.
Racing, racing to rise
to meet the grade
to see the light
reflected in your gaze.
Racing my shadows
I stutter in your appraisal.
Futile.

Not good enough.
Not fast enough.
You love me,
but not enough
 to see through my faults
to care about my pain.

Your warnings
- I'm not enough -
all you deign to share.
I'm overwhelmed.
I stumble.
I'm futile
in my tears.


~

Don't try to save me. I'm happy where I am. Your comfort comes with chains that can't be shaken loose. They keep you free from life, which I would rather savor.
I wish you could taste it with me. It's not so scary, after all. The colors are so much brighter
when you're not hiding in the clouds.
Don't be so afraid to fly.


~

Here I am
trying to find you comfort in your relics.
You're so far away
all I can feel is your back
walking away
beyond time,
beyond hope.

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