Meldings of feelings aren't to be
recognized by me anymore.
All such inclinations to do so have
caused me worry, anxiety, and a forlorn
sense of abandonment, so why continue
with such harmful dues?

They aren't for me anymore.
Maybe in the span of years they will be.
They may be ready to be picked up,
dusted off, and cleansed from the
pads of my fingers, but for now
they shall remain away from me,
a distant part of my memory and personality,
not conditioning themselves into my life.
These inclinations shall no longer
harbor the need for love, for
dependence, for the sweet disposition of
feeling whole.

These inclinations aren't there anymore,
they left me a while ago.

Kind, they told me I was kind.
Forgiving, they told me I was forgiving.
Understanding, they told me I was understanding.
I was.
Such statements I can't deny,
but how can one remain the same
when such character traits only
harm them in the end?
How can I remain the same, how can
I remain kind when it is never
given in return?

Second chances have been spent, and
I have none left to give.
I remained exhausted in the practice
of self loathing and misrepresentation.


I can't remain the same.
I won't remain the same.