The Things They Tell Me
Poem
They tell me to forget you
That I’m wasting time on feeling who
You are inside and appear aside
From your bright, fluttering smiles
They tell me waiting isn’t worth
The return on my invested mirth
In hope that you might turn to
Me and see all that I’ve given you
They tell me you’re not good enough
That you’ll be too forthright and tough
And smother my fine, quiet melody
Into a monstrous, dark cacophony
They tell me you’re a damaged soul
Who can’t let go of your past’s heavy tolls
Which will eventually be a burden to me
And bury me in a six foot deep hole
They tell me that I’m stuck in love
With people who would rather shove
Me away on rainy days
And dimiss my feelings, my pangs of pain
Then they tell me I’m the one to blame
For letting my sad heart enflame
For leading myself into darkness
Waiting for your hand to save me from this
They tell me to let go of my feelings
To shed them like a fruit that needs peeling
Like all I need is a knife in my hand
To cut off the excess, the dangling strands
They tell me I need to think for myself
About all my values, feelings, and health
But heed their words carefully, or else
I may forever sit on this little, dark shelf
more by A. M. LAINE
photograph by Elijah Henderson
