Why am I like this? I often wonder.
. Why do I do the right things for the wrong reasons?
And the wrong things for the right reasons?
Why do I throw myself at brick walls with this blind hope?
Why am I a small child in love, clinging onto idealism?
Despite being bent more than my breaking point several times,
I still get my hopes up.
Still open my heart up like an unhealed wound, an open hurt gushing and swollen with emotions
I ignore my pain, ignore my logic, ignore my doubts. Why?
To be broken again. Used. To be hated. Mistreated. Berated. Betrayed. Wouldn't surprise me
But to be loved? Oh, this scares and hurts me tremendously
For if love is a sword to fight pain then it is surely double edged in itself, and at the turn of a second hand can tear me open and cut me down,
And if love is medicine it is surely a drug.
To make me sick and fill me up. Give me joy to take it away. Make me lose my faith in me
A cure and a curse all the same. A blessing and a poison.
For to care is a burden, difficult to carry, but love is the chain that holds the weight of broken hope, unbreakable care
My lover may hurt me.
May break my trust. May walk all over me. May use me. May kill me
And I would love her just the same,
if only to see her smile, as she twists the knife in my back one last time
I beg of you, burn me as your firewood to keep yourself warm
Drink the love out of me until I am limp, and when my heart stops beating it will continue to rejoice
Once I love, I never stop.
Not for you, or me, or the world. I am in love with you, and with her, and all the rest. I won't give up, no matter how sad and hurt I am. I'll carry on. For love.