Sunday, 4 May 2014

The Ballad of Me

I tried not to feel it
Yet not feeling it was so much more painful than feeling it

I tried not to need, thinking that if I could not need
I’d get what I needed

I knew this wasn’t it, and I ignored that knowing
In all the ways I knew how

I built a shrine to myself
I sang the ballad of me
My triumph when it was turning out well
My fault when it was turning out bad

Intent on proving myself right
I waited (in vain) for you to validate my version of me

Let’s face it: we’d almost rather kill ourselves
Than admit this isn’t who we are

Here’s the thing: It’s all totally innocent
We can only be what we are

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