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Wouldn’t it be good to go back?
Feel how happiness enticed succession?
What do I have to say for myself?
I’m beautiful when I’m being me.
A complication so strong it hurts to shed a tear.
Second chances are inevitable,
When devotion becomes a way of life.
I remember.
It’s difficult but your image remains scratched inside my mind.
Am I a whore if I can’t feel?
While I can’t love myself?

How can I accept my failure?
Face myself each day with a tainted smile?
Why do I purposely disappoint?
If only to see you recognize my self.
The infant bites its owners hand.
Second chances are idealistic,
As forever turns into goodbye.
I’m dissolving:
It’s too easy to hold to the ledge, so I fall.
Am I alone if I can’t feel?
While no one sees me anymore?

Is joy a miracle I cannot reach?
A slamming door at my every flaw.
Who is the one consistently dying,
Within the arms that cannot hold?
The courageous are fools as the scared are respected.
Second chances are impossible,
As forgiveness is a myth.
I am nothing.
No one will accept the child they cannot see.
Am I myself if I can’t feel?
While I can’t even try?

© Sylwia Wielgosz 2004.