Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sep 2015
Asking for help is not the problem, but the guilt afterwards is. The telling of my emotions would be bearable without the feeling in the familiar aftermath. If I reveal what happened, the explanation would be unknown. The confusion, questions, and anger of what I did would control me. I would have to explain. I would have to explain why. "Why did you do that?" "Why didn't you tell me?" "What was going on?" "I'm so sorry." "Are you okay?" "Is there anything I can do to help?"

NO.

What am I supposed to say? How am I supposed to respond? How will I get through a day without all of that?

Do I ignore it? Do I try to make them understand? But both of those options are useless. They're both not worth my time or tears; but my questions still remain unanswered. I don't know. And at the time I couldn't care any less.

I care too much, I don't care enough. I say too little, I say too much. My current quest is to discover the happy medium between this all. Today, tomorrow, or never? Which will it be?
Marissa
Written by
Marissa  Minnesota, USA
(Minnesota, USA)   
251
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems