I’ve become so accustomed
swallowing my fears
instead of letting them flow
like a river of deceit
I put up little damns
and roadblocks
everywhere I look.
What is a good cry,
when left alone afterward,
I’d like to think there might be some resolve,
but I can’t really solve
my dilemna
if I won’t even let myself cry.
Instead I stare blankly
at the screen
looking for words
anything to describe this
state of mind
that has me dwelling
upon all the reasons why,
with no solutions in the
immediate future,
except to say,
it’s routine
to feel like life is dragging me down,
because I live it too often in my life.
It’s just
I wish,
well somehow she might read my words,
wish I might know she … well she did.
apersonaljourney - stories of love 