I Wish I Was Enough

I can’t help but want to help a wounded bird fly again, or even perhaps a little kitty trapped in a fire escape. And yesterday, there was indeed that opportunity. Actually, everyday is an opportunity to help. Every day, I wish to make someone happy. Every day, I try to. But not every day do I succeed. There are things I accept that I can’t fix, or make better. And yet, that doesn’t stop me from wishing I could do something –anything to make it all better.

I don’t know. I guess I’m just stubborn. I’ll likely write a poem after this. No, not about how stubborn I am! About how I can’t always make people happy and I shouldn’t feel so bad about it and make it my fault. Actually, I feel like I’ve written a hundred poems on this –about not being enough, about always trying to please everyone, and almost always not succeeding. I guess no matter what, I can’t truly accept without at least trying. But the sad part is that once I try, and I don’t succeed, I’ll mope around for days and think of other ways to make someone happy. I’ll keep running to meet a wall.

I feel like it’s always my fault and of course it’s not. My brain is just too deaf and my heart is too soft on the inside of its armor. I think this is because I want something in return. Not necessarily a material thing, or attention. I want something more. I want love. I know, I know, in most of my poems, especially the series of poems I wrote called the Heartbreak Soliloquy, it’d make anyone think that I’m against love and well you know, heartbroken.

In a way I am, despite the fact that I’ve never had a proper boyfriend in all of my 18 years on Earth. I am so heartbroken I’ve closed my doors and my every window in fear of love. I was just made aware of cracks in fairy tales and that things won’t always end in happy endings. I am so aware that I am so reluctant to even risk it or try. Love, for me is trouble. And I’d like to stay out of its path as long as I can.

Yet I have always wanted it. Yearned for it. To the point that I’d do anything to be loved. Being loved is different from loving someone. Being loved is amazing. And that doesn’t scare me at all. It’s one of the best things that we’ll ever feel. I want that. But very few people know how to love someone. They are almost always too busy loving themselves.

I’ll leave you with a poem entitled Such a Waste. It’s part of the Heartbreak Soliloquies. I wrote this for someone or for everyone I loved and never returned the same amount of love I gave.

Three words were poison for you and me,
A weapon we keep while we hide behind our shields,
We are so full of fear, that I’m sure this is love;
For you cannot love without fear settled in your heart.

He dies a little inside and so do I,
Whenever we exchange a look from a distance and smile,
I see fear and love in his eyes.

Hammering in his heart,
Begging to come out,
A blaze stirring inside,
But instead he only sighs.

I, on the other hand,
Yell at him from a distance,
I tell him to give it up,
I’m tired of our endless dance.

Instead he denies,
And wraps his heart in ice,
He looks at me from a far,
And we return to our opposite sides.

We both pretend to be brave,
That we can do it without each other’s help,
But in reality, I can’t live without him beside me
And I crave to be wrapped in his arms.

But I’d rather not stand,
In between his fear and his doubts,
When I have my own, trapped inside my heart,
Begging to come out.

If he wont put down his shield,
Why must I do it?
If he doesn’t profess,
Why must I confess?

Love is fear, fear is love
And yes I do love him,
But fear is overpowering,
And love is too fleeting.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s