Understanding
There is a fine line, between willing and understanding
the clueless hole left in your soul is grappling for the spark that once lit your heart
while you whistle nonchalance to the sea of faces that crash through your life like a broken wave
Because understanding is not done without willingness
and these problems you see so clearly in front of you honey, they don’t exist
not to them no, they don’t exist.
Those promises whispered in-between sheets late at night remain there, woven in the cotton that you have forgotten with the bite of yesterday’s dawn.
They implore you they do, presenting lies disguised as childish riles
and your bedroom light now is sheltered in shadow and it feels like a gallows, but they can’t see that.
No, they can’t see that.
The lids of your eyes are left masked in disguise
these problems you feel no longer seem real
but the confusion does.
And that rise in hysteria that makes you grow wearier turns your soldier façade into something so vague
and you can’t explain it because your heart is like rock and the problem now is
You don’t know what.
That confusion is real and those things that you feel they are present they are true they are here.
But there is hope
Darling there is hope.
For you aren’t alone in a world full of scorn there are people that care honey, people are there!
But you can’t see that
no, you can’t see that.
I'm not the best at poetry but there you go