My literature expresses my sorrow,
displayed in poems enriched with pain.
Lessons learnt, heartbreak, and trials.
Tears flow as each key is pressed,
as proof reading is performed and I hear my feelings out loud.
Each line like a knife slicing clean.
I wish I knew then what I know now.
Anger and rage engulf me!
My medicine to overcome the pain: independence and seclusion.
Those who truly care are ignored or put on hold.
Love? I'm scared of it.
Love comes with heartbreak...risk...lessons.
Sacrifices made, love must be mutual.
Love is to me, not a feeling of being safe by him,
but by you.
Love means knowing when to put yourself first.
Love equals trust.
A trust I know longer possess.
I don't know who loves me...who genuinely cares...
I don't know who did love me.
I wish somebody would and be the strong shoulder that I need to lean on...
so that my tears instead of pouring them into words,
can be wiped away by gentle hands of true, sincere affection
and my doubts, worries, and pain, can finally...go away.
