POETRY
Art of keeping friends
An art I am yet to master
A state of unrest
That follows a session of trust,
Where I talk, for once, about what I truly feel,
Is one to be contended with.
My head, it doesn’t cease its nag,
Oh! why did I think it was fine
To let someone into my guarded secret,
Even if the secret is just my true self.
Every time I open up, I hope,
I hope that they may understand,
I hope that this may be right,
I hope that I won’t be proven wrong,
Only to be proven wrong once again,
To blatantly be shown how stupid I am
To trust, to reach out, to hope,
To think I can be myself — it’s insane.
The regret, the fear of being wrong,
The anxiety of being hurt again,
It mounts and destroys and makes me tired,
Oh! when did it get so complicated?
I am mean if I express myself,
I am changed if I finally grow,
I am quiet if I don’t let them know,
It’s a problem, whatever I show!
Maybe I should bid adieu to all,
But I know I won’t survive that way,
I need them, they don’t need me,
Will I ever get better with people?
