Please don't walk away.
Understand, I wasn't always this way.
I have a haunting past,
and I would tell you about it but you have never asked.

My past is something I'd rather not discuss.
If you did ask my hands would probably start shaking,
my eyes would go blank, and my mouth mute.
I'd break the silence with "I don't know where to start,"
and "it's a story so long, I wouldn't want to bore you."

But if you're leaving because of something I do,
please don't go without hearing me through.
I've got issues of trust and anxious habits,
lungs of rust, and a heart to match it.

A high-voltage heart with one too many sparks;
someone once set it on fire, I'm too scared to restart.
At first my hands shake, and my heart pounds,
my words dissipate, and my eyes lock to the ground.
I can't move my feet, scared to fly off the ground;
I once rose so high, and fell onto the floor,
scratches and bruises, a concussion, I'm sure;
can't risk hitting the ocean, don't want a parting spark no more.

So before you leave please understand,
I'm not just an attic light that wont burn bright;
it may take time, but it's just a little dust,
I don't mind if you try to clean me up.


The door is wide open, but so are your arms,
if you want to leave, do as you want,
the outlet is empty, and so are your palms;
plug me in before you throw away the key;

plug me in before you leave,
but before you do so, please,
dry your hands.

Give me a chance.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.