And just for thought...
He asks me what I fight each day,
honestly believing it is the simple things that I battle.
He grows angry when I refuse to whisper to him my secrets.
He doesn't really want to know, I know.
Even if I speak of my tragedy, it would only alienate him.
He will feel awkward, uncomfortable.
He will pity all over me,
apologizing for something he didn't have anything to do with
or making excuses for the scars that still burn fresh
but I do not want to hear his words.
This is my war to win.
I could care less if he wants to make it better, he can't.
He can never fix that part of me.
I know he is curious of my days past but there's not much to say.
I could tell him I haven't taken a fresh breath in years,
recite all the empty days beyond that,
speak of every horrible detail of my clown like friend.
He looks at me as if at any moment I will speak
but he wants to know too much.
At the end of the day, I'm just a girl who has been in love with writing her entire life. I am full of quirks, anxieties, fears, joys, laughter. And all I have wanted to do was give the world a smile.