A Paradox?

I give up.

I wash these bloody hands,

Stained with Hope,

For the final time.

– Or at least, I hope I do.

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Love me?

I cannot say… ‘I love you’,

No, to this I will not confess.

Since, I don’t know if those words are true.

How can I say it, and mean it,

When I know I’m not good enough for you?

So, these words cannot be used unless,

I’m convinced that you love me too.

 

Our Innocence lost

The hardest part to digest,

Is not seeing the gaping wounds on shocked victim’s faces.

Nor is it the bitterest pill to swallow,

Seeing their homes savagely brought to the ground.

Yes, there were many hopes destroyed,

And yes, many positive outcomes murdered,

But the most painful reality to witness,

Is the loss of innocence that now exists.

The fact that the purity of good people has been stripped away,

Is the greatest crime of them all.

Thus the saddest truth,

Is not – the deeds of the passing army, done,

But that we like them, have become.

Average

There’s something I want to confess,

Something I need to get off of my chest,

It’s, that all I ever wanted was to feel as good as the rest,

Not to feel greater, or worthier or even the best,

But just to feel on par with them, would make me feel blessed.

And to feel this way seems like it’s become my life’s quest,

To the point that I may well have become obsessed,

In trying to feel like I’m on par with the rest.

This seems to have unwittingly made life a contest,

And since it’s a competition I won’t win, I’ve become depressed,

But I’m bound by the fear of rejection to always invest,

In the pursuit of proving that I’m equal, and not less.

In this regard I’ve sacrificed much, but to no success.

In this pursuit I’ve pushed myself much, but made little progress.

Odd fellow

As I rested my head on my pillow,

My head was filled with hopes of a better tomorrow,

But as I woke, I only felt a recurring sorrow,

A lurking gloom, leaving me feeling hollow.

A lasting regret, a bitter pill to swallow,

To know that I can be described as yellow,

A fretful being, never known to be mellow,

And to live with the stigma of being an odd fellow.

 

Apart

I guess there’s no way of knowing,

The way you feel about me,

And whether or not I made,

The right impression on your heart.

Perhaps I should just accept,

That all we’re meant to be – is apart.