[ 12. 14 ]
i asked her, looking into her sad eyes
"why do you go through
what you do?"
they say that the eyes are
windows
to souls,
but hers were more like doors -
you saw the pain of the 'i love yous'
she never got back,
the countless mornings she'd woken up to find Him
gone,
the messages lavished with lies,
sweet nothings that left her empty
you saw her sufferings so well
you couldn't help but feel
your heart ache.
you'd never know anything
if you were to just pass her by -
she still carries her head held high
maybe as if she searches for god in the sky
but in her eyes, you know she searches for god
in the hearts
of the heartless.
taking her hand in mine, she looked at me
with those eyes of her and said,
"you wouldn't understand, little girl
but i just wanna be loved.
to be called someone's
beloved
would be more valuable to me
than
anything i own."
so to this day, i call her Beloved
whenever i see her on the streets,
a hard look molded onto her face
to protect her heart -
she smiles at me, and the wall breaks for awhile
and she lets me close to her again
but i don't think she meant she wanted that
from me;
not like this, anyway
YOU ARE READING
past oblivion.
Poetry"what can i really say?" used to be my words, when i didn't know as much. when i got older, i responded to myself. "everything." now, i realize that i can use my breath to speak on everything in existence, from dust on jupiter to the depths of hell...
