I have come to withhold saying the word love.
Once my lips have spoken it to the things I do,
They disappear without leaving a clue
Whether it is a beautiful vintage black lace dress
Or a great book I just bought straight off the press,
With a person it seems to always end in regret?
It’s been this way for as long as I can remember.
Wonderful in the beginning, turns into a night
mare and then I have to flee, return to sender.
Understanding I am the creator of my reality.
One would like to believe I could grasp the
Particularities or does it depend on mentality?
Apparently, I lack in areas that require common
Sense, while I overlook the obvious. It’s in their
carefully chosen words done in pretense.
If I should question, they respond in defense.
Without rhythm or reason. I become confused
over what I felt I knew. Makes me feel blue.
My vulnerability is their resource. twist and
distort hope I’ll fall off course. Why do I have the
hardest time believing they’ve been is deceiving?
Learn as you go I suppose. Yet not everyone does.
When putting a best foot forward the one left behind
catches up and their true self becomes exposed.
It was the lack of love for myself that allowed
countless mishaps, regardless to any chosen
new path, I never failed to end in relapse.
Love has unfortunately been difficult for me
to comprehend. While for some so easily said,
I much prefer to say I like them instead.
There’s a big difference between the two. Love
Is full of ones expectations to be filled. Like
Offers acceptance just for who you are.
Love of people, places or things I’ve chosen to
tread lightly whenever I’m on their shores, Even
though I may love them I keep one eye on the door.
