November 22, 2011

In the palms of my hands are the only thing I have left. It's safe and it's holding. It was once abound in my fingertips and across my face; on my lips and through my veins. Now it's barely surviving in the hold of my hands. Barely committing to the sound of elation. Barely reminding me of the good.
For my disposition keeps nothing but anguish and the first taste of affirmation.
I was only trying to figure it out. I had eyes of hope and a heart of plea.
You had every right but not one of them were. I woke up and seen you and my mind was curving.
Your shirt on my back, your hand on my knee; My heart in your hands, my unease turned facing. Look me in the face and tell me you can't see it.
In teaching myself what I'd already learned, I have yet to maintain it. There's really nothing to compare and nothing to say. The limb I'm on has been breaking for a while and you're not even close.
I'm only backing down and blaming you because you promised me you knew. You promised me I'd be fine and with my breakdown and my mistakes, you've changed your mind.
It's the chance I'd rather know.

Mea Culpa.