such flowery terms lovers speak
touches of affection only lovers do
oh so little I know myself
so little I have nothing
I am the silent observer
standing untouched on the opposite side
some things you will never learn
unless through love and desire
of oneself and to another
I only know tears of what I have never known
tears of pity for what I will never know
because no such things have ever touched upon me
I have lost faith in their appearance
silly me! I am not the only one for sure!
yet is that reason for me to still the thoughts and feelings within?
and wonder why no one has ever seen me?
am I selfish and complaining?
or human and longing?
they say ‘wait and see’
but I have waited and seen and nothing has come
not even close
as though I am a caged animal
who will never truly interact with the life outside
a part of the world but closed off
a barrier stands between us
people come and go
they see me but forget me again
always moving on
they may come back but they will never stay
although my heart silently roars
not meant for such a cage
it is beyond my control
I have tried my best
I do not know how to deliver myself
without becoming someone else
I do not recognize
always alone all my life
I never pretended to be anyone else
honesty was supposed to be saluted
I have lived a quarter of my life and already I feel so old
thoughts turned bitter towards things I have never known
spoilt from early age
with the illusive expectancy of love when young
that never came
and as the years went by
in a painfully tranquil version of coming-of-age
I grew to learn that luck was with me
in anything but here
that I could seek out and grab what I wanted
anything but this
that this was something else
something I might never touch without getting burned
knowing only slurs or disinterested pleasantries from those potential ‘princes’
I have nothing but the worlds of fiction, dreams and imagination
scared to seek out the faces of the boys turned men
by the reality of my childhood experiences
by the knowledge of the workings of men gathered through the years
and by my idealistic hope that a true ‘prince’ is out there
I do not need one to find myself
I have already found myself
yet no one has found me
remembrance of only me discovering the world
handling things on my own
and proudly so
so important – if not the most important – like so many say
but should it always be so?
should that be my only memory?
those few who live over a hundred years champion single life
why cannot life as it is be enough?
why do I seem so greedy and pitiful?
yet I do not ask for much
let me have this