I shouldn't have to fight to be loved

I've opened up
My heart for you
I've let my guard down
I've let the fragile remains
Of my shattered pieces
Rest in your hands
You hold me so close, so tight
I feel safe
And yet...
I don't want to sound paranoid
I'm sorry
But I'm terrified
I trust you with my life
But I trusted her too
And you hold the result
In your hands

I'm not much for conversation
But so much can be said in silence
It can convey awkwardness
Anger
Content
Concentration
Sorrow
The way your face lights up when you see someone
Or the way your smile fades as you pass each other by
Eyes can give you so much insight
Into how a person is feeling
So when people say that I don't talk much
They really just don't speak my language

Am I a good guy?
Am I the good guy?
Am I a main character not quite out of the first chapter?
These struggles I go through
Do people root for me?
Will I do something with this life of mine?

If a person was to suddenly know everything about me
Without getting to know me
Would that be the only unbiased opinion?
And what would they think?
Would they back peddle in disgust?
Would they want to get to know me?

Would I give my life for another?

Will I even be remembered?

Does she know how much I love her?
I tell her
But can I even translate the immensity of it
Into words?

What will I be?
Who will I be?

What kind of movie is my life?
A romcom?
A drama?
Action/adventure?
Dramedy?
Or perhaps
Since I'm asking all these questions
With no clear answer
A mystery

Is this one the last one?
Is this the one I will spend my life with?

Who will read these thoughts?
And who will appreciate them?

I've only ever felt truly happy in my dreams
Happiness in the real world
Is fleeting usually
And doesn't stick around
Joy
Joy is that feeling of content
That state of utter bliss
That never ending happiness
True joy, I have yet to experience

I am a hapless lad
Fortunate of the "un" kind
What kind of world do we live in
That I would be in this state
From dawn, 'til dusk
Where is my joy?
I'm not a liar
But I never tell the truth
I just elect
To stay silent
I wonder
I wander
I don't know what I want
Or where I'm going
Or even what I'm thinking, often times
Would this be considered living?
I'm just going through the motions
I am alive, in the technical term
But is this really a life?
Every day feels the same
I've become numb
The days, weeks, months
Blended together in a rainbow of grey
What is the purpose, if not to enjoy
To bring joy
It's hard to be thankful for each day
When I can't tell the difference between this and the last
I am a product of society
Of the system
The school is all about the short term memory
I don't learn anymore
Why?
Am I just ungrateful?
Or am I one of the few
Who isn't comfortable with this monotony
Not blind to the plight of man
Or am I just a hapless, hopeless young man
Playing the part of a poet?

I'm waiting for inspiration
And I'm left wanting
Wanting my writing to be well thought out
And pleasant to read and hear
Even if the subject itself is not
But I hate to wait
It takes too long
I want to create poetry
But my creativity can't keep up with the demand of my twitching fingers
The want, the need
To create something
But not knowing what that something is
It's infuriating to say the least
So I rush
I put out unfinished, not well thought out pieces
In order to satiate that itch
I swear I'm not a boring person
I just tend to feel the same things
Over, and over
So all my poems start to sound the same
Monotonous, restating old ideas
Because I don't think about it
Or I think too much
I try too hard
To sound different
Unique
But that's not who I am
I'm just a boy
Who happens to fall in love too easily
And has a voice
But no clear message

I am an open book
So take a look
Maybe you'll like what you see

Or, maybe you'll ignore the message
And only see the typos, the grammar infractions
The mistakes I made along the way
In my little novel of a life
Because the book isn't about the order or meaning of the words right?
It's whether or not they are done "correctly"

You could read me so easily
I don't try to conceal it
For the most part
Sometimes
Occasionally
But that doesn't matter
Read the material I've provided you with
Even if it doesn't tell the whole story

My heart is on my sleeve
Look at it, anyone could tell I've been in love
By the scars in its flesh
You can tell it's been broken
But that's alright
You can also tell that someone has mended it

I make my intentions clear
I'm not here to hurt anyone
But myself
But that isn't intentional
For the most part
Sometimes
Occasionally
But that doesn't matter
I'm here for you
Talk to me, I'll listen
I want to help

Do you think of me?
I think of you
Yes, you
You who are reading this right now
I might not have ever met you
But I can guarantee that you have crossed my mind
Mentioned in my prayers
'Cause I'm thoughtful like that

One of these days, someone is gonna read this book
And be spellbound
Glued to the pages
Can't wait to find out what happens next
Desperately wanting to be a part of the story
At least, that's what I hope
And I'll be happy to include them
You don't have to watch from behind a glass pane
It won't hurt you
For the most part
Sometimes
Occasionally
But that doesn't matter

Just, don't burn the only known copy before it's even done
I don't want to disappear in a puff of smoke
Not just yet

Read me
Tell me what you see
Because when it comes to myself
I am tragically illiterate
The illiterate author
Of a tragedy

Little drummer boy in my class
Ratta-tat-tat
Beating on his desk
Tappity-tap-pat
Keep the beat going friend

I've never spoken with you
But your knocks tell me everything
You are so pumped, excited
Today's the day
And your poor pencil gets to be your outlet for your excitement

The teacher tells you to "knock it off"
He doesn't get the irony
Mister, don't you see that he's trying to?
Regardless, that energy has to go somewhere
So now the pencil goes to work
On your paper
I can see the hearts, and the unmistakable names

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap
Now your leg goes to work
Like a jackhammer on the floor
Little Thumper, if only she could see just how excited you are
The flowers in the bag, the sign propped up against your desk
A smile creeps across my face
As my mind drifts to my own experience

Thump-thump-thump
Now my leg goes to work
Like a contagion, the room is infected
Love is, after all, in the air

I have a problem
It isn’t a secret, but it isn’t something you’re likely to know
You see, I can’t cry
I try and I try
But, the tears never come
And my riverbeds stay dry

I don’t really remember when it started
This isn't how I was before, I know
But, did something happen?
Is it something I’d rather forget?

Did I break?
I don’t remember breaking
But, I’m broken nonetheless

Are tears like glue?
Could they fix what shattered?
Am I scared that if I repair myself I’ll remember?
Remember?

It’s not that I don’t want to cry
It’s just that, the tears don’t flow
They build up in my eyes, and it aches
I want to cry… And it hurts

They say real men don’t cry
Well, I guess that makes me a man
I suppose I became a man years ago
But, it wasn’t my time!
I had no choice
Just like that, I grew up
And now I feel old, worn
Tired, torn

Did I use all of them?
Where did they go?
And, what exactly made that river flow?
All these thoughts and questions run through my mind
The headache has already begun
I want to cry
But I can’t
They- the tears
They don’t flow
Don’t flow
Won’t flow
Can’t flow

No one would suspect
No one knows
It’s not a secret
But no one ever asks why you’re not crying

When I am described

Average is a common word

Just another person

Just another face in the crowd

Just… Me.

But aren’t I?

Me: The only true word to describe myself

I am me

But I try not to be

When they stare or laugh

There is no one I’d rather be less

Than me

I hear their voices talking

About that dreaded person

Me

But the voices aren’t real, in my head

And still...

But I’m just like you

Or at least close enough

But to anyone else

Just being myself

A sin, a crime

But at the same time

They couldn’t care less

Just me, just another lost soul in this messed up place

Looking for love, receiving none

Caring to a fault

But, that isn’t me

It couldn’t be!

Not for what they see

A character, an extra

Seen, not heard

With no explanation

As to why he’s there, or who he is

Ordinary in every way

Slightly above average at best

But, I lower my gaze

My time alone has ended

No more out loud thoughts of dejected rejection

I shut my mouth, bow my head

I need my rest

After what wasn't said…

I, am Me

The average schmo, I’d rather not be