My Face

He wishes I were someone else
A distant memory he tries to hide
He wishes mine were a different face
A secret love lingers inside

I want to believe his beautiful lies,
That he’s the one to set me free
He cannot hide the truth in his eyes
It’s not my face he longs to see

This realization grows each day
As every kiss can tell
And every time he looks my way
I’m thrown deeper into hell

It’s not me he holds so tight
When he closes his eyes
It’s not my face in his dreams at night
But it’s my heart broken by his lies

So here I am, alone and cold
Once again, fallen from grace
The saddest story ever told
Is written all over my face.

Some background info:

So I decided to post this after a conversation today with my younger sister, in which she half-jokingly made the comment that I’m incapable of real human emotion.

I don’t think she’s completely right, but I can’t with any honesty say she’s completely wrong, either. Things are often muted, and I have the unique ability to distance myself from my emotions, even turn them off. Insecurity, being unsure about myself or my decisions, and (especially) vulnerability are not things that surface often, and even when they do, it’s relatively easy (most times) to push them back away. Insecurity, indecision, and doubt help no one, and have no place in my life.

But my sister’s comment, and the context in which it was used, struck a chord. Not necessarily a bad chord, but a deep one. And I decided to dig up a couple of old poems, particularly ones written about loneliness and sadness, to remind myself of the way I felt then, to remember what it was like to experience an emotion strong enough to inspire those words. I even found this poem I’d written near the beginning of my relationship with kazander, and have decided to post it, partly to show myself that I’m still capable of vulnerability (and what’s more, letting others see such vulnerability). See, I’m human too.

Hehe well, sometimes.

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