This is the harsh truth, I’ll sugarcoat it none

Games of luck and games of chance
Flying a kite on a warm summer’s day
Are wonderful, stress-free pastimes
Those childhood modes of play.
But do not think to tinker with my heart
To take it apart and wait until I erect it again
Do not mistake an emphatic “NO” for a start
And resume those cruelest forms of trickery.
That façade that proclaims kindness is false
That smile only searches for a new toy to break
Like a self-deluded hero
You mistake a friend as a vampire to stake.
And though I loved you, and showed myself true
I love myself more, than to be treated so by you.

Mr. Hyde

Restless sits my soul
While hours wile away
Awaiting the familiar ghoul
That taunts me by the day
He wears my face and pries
The black recesses of my heart
Despite my fearful cries
He laughs, “It’s just the start.” Continue reading “Mr. Hyde”

Retrospective

In childhood, problems had a clear answer
And tears were soothed and clucked over
But problems of the heart grow in complexity
Tangling human beings and dredging
The murky depths of past hurts
A myriad of ways to process and organize
And still further, the choice to turn away
I will no longer blame myself for mistakes
For that was who I was
And that was the path then

The Negative

Where is trouble kept?
Worry and sadness and anger
If I could, I would banish them into nothingness
But why must dislodging it from my heart
Put a shadow of it in yours?
A hydra which grows twice as many heads
As those that are cut and lopped
I heave a rusted sword and can only hope