Your Poem
Poetry . . . Gift or Curse? My only form of therapy The way to share how I feel My time to really work things out
Poetry . . . Gift or Curse?
My only form of therapy
The way to share how I feel
My time to really work things out
The only way to deal.
But it also gives away secrets
Some are not ready to hear
Hiding them becomes harder
Reactions generate fear
How do you gain acceptance
When you reject yourself
How are you to be understood
When you put your feelings on the shelf
Hidden from the world I stay
Until a poem opens the door
Some try to shut it in my face
And others beg for more
I thought I found my open door
A friend within your eyes
But the blue hues of acceptance
Where just reflection of the ice
I've never seen anyone
Who could build faster a wall of brick
Communication was cut off
The air grew suffocatingly thick
You proved to be just another
Who would rather pass by
Then to stay and hold on to me
Because it's too hard to try
All I wanted was your approval
I wanted you to say my work was good
But your words of gold never came to me
Why did I think they should?
I understand your reaction
That maybe you're a bit scared
Your rejection was only due
To the fact that you cared
But now I sit and wonder
If these lines that can't be rehearsed
Will one day prove themselves
as a gift or a curse. . . .