What happens when we realize,
there’s really no reason to deny
the feelings we have,
how our imagination
wants to drill us
or suck us down some
long and deep well
where fear and confusion
hold strong the ropes
that led us down this path.
How do we decide?
What if each one of us
stood into the wind
and let the beauty of nature
take us in the wind.
If only we knew,
we wouldn’t hurt ourselves.
She asked me that while looking in my eyes
I said I do only to sound sort of wise.
I went back to look and nothing made sense
So badly i wanted to give this love a chance.
~
She told me my stories frightened her,
she thought they classified a pattern.
I wanted only her appeal to a passion,
a heartfelt solution to her indecision.
~
Seems our lives are easily triggered
that noticeable desire deferred
Seems only now can we appreciate
the very love we so quickly negate.
~
I wanted her to know my love is true
Instead we cascaded deep into a blue.
I’m sitting here now,
in the quiet untold
how readily
a sense of anxiety I choose.
Who am I why am I
is it always only true.
Who do I hurt,
why do I hurt,
there’s a constancy
with a mania
outside of the norm.
Always questions remain,
my self confidence
Is it true or a ruse.
I can never be responsible
for knowing,
though I would every corner
concede.
I only wish a peace,
not a lot to ask
given the years of
persecution.
Is that it now,
am I defining myself?
Or perhaps it is a
penchant for precision,
always getting in the way.
In the notes
I’m meant to travel,
so I always try to
hang on,
remember those moments that help secure
a sense of well being,
a confidence
as that seems all of our desire.
Paper and a pen 