I'm blunt and outspoken,
But easily heartbroken.
So truthfully, it’s best to lie.
Or perhaps I  should say, “hide.”
It’s best to hide hesitance than to let it reside
In every day conversational tides—
Pushing and pulling erratically, yet expectedly
Like my tug-of-war thoughts
The ones that route me to rot
Like my wrought iron that rusts
Until the build up coerces me to combust
At the worst possible times.  
It’s best to delude that I’m fine,
Or should I allude it’s easier to whine
Online to anonymous shrines
Like this one?
It’s easier to remind myself
What’s “for the best.” “Each obstacle is a test.”
What I should do. What I shouldn’t.
What I’d give and what you wouldn’t, couldn’t and that I needn’t care.
“It’s best now to carry on,”
To claim I don’t want what I want and
That what I do want is wrong.

Is it wrong to pursue our desires?
Wasn't a forward girl required?
Or are we simply left reticent liars?
It's always the stagnancy of which I tire.