Line by line, I recite the words in my head.
A sword to their mighty pen,
changing me into something I don't want to be.
Making me question me.
And I desist but give.
And receive nothing but heartache.

Why is it that I can't seem to remember the heartache.
Why can I forget but not forgive.
Is it possible to always be in wrong.
To always be the one to cause trouble.
To be the caught in the web but not eaten.
I see it coming, its legs moving, my body itching like it's already touching me.

And I still give.
And they still don't see it.
What morphs their view of me?
Is it the pain etched across my face that they comprehend to be...
What do they comprehend it to be?

"Just smile more often."
And I recite it again.
And still continue to give, in the hope to receive one day; something that might fill this void of infinite benevolence.