The Importance of Bandaids

Two poems, the first after allowing my mind to do the things that eventually wound my heart, and the second after allowing a Bandaid to fix things. Sometimes, curiosity really does kill the cat, or, in this case, wound a heart for a while. But sometimes, you have to get past the things that keep you from diving in head first. They may seem like really important things or even really silly things, but in either case, allowing those things to stand in your way can only cause more problems. You have to get past it, in one way or another. Talking it out, sulking for a while (so long as you eventually get out of the sulking!), or writing. I chose writing this time. The more eloquent I made the first one, and the more I worked on it, the more I realized it was petty. But I still really liked the poem a lot. The second is my realization of how petty I was being, or something along those lines. I haven't written much poetry in a while, not where I paid attention to things like meter and rhyme scheme, but these are actually cleaned up a good bit.

Names Interchangeable, Words the Same

I should have thought it better than to delve

Beyond a front so innocent and clean,

But my mind would not allow me to shelve

Those lingering thoughts until now unseen.

I knew what it was that I would unearth,

Only hurt could be the final treasure,

But still I dug, looking for signs of worth,

I realize this pain may be your final pleasure.

The names were interchangeable,

Their importance not in the least,

But still each cut a gash in legs once so stable

Until the whole banquet crashed at my feet.

Repeated keystrokes, copied ink upon a page,

His strange tongues were his siren’s call.

The words, the phrases, they were all the same,

For reasons known and unknown, I believed them all.

You ask what’s wrong, hoping a smile to raise,

And still, though I try, I cannot help but wonder

How many times you pled to her the very phrase,

Or to her, or to her, or perhaps her.

Why look, if it brings so much pain?

To know ghosts of the past were real,

To see the words were used the same.

But to feel hurt is still something to feel.

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Another Her, (But For Now), Only Me

I know you’ve said the very words

To her, to her, and, yes, to her as well,

But still I must convince myself, implore myself

To believe you mean it just as much as before.

I should not care, should just accept the score.

There were others before me, trophies on the shelf,

But that, for now at least, I can dispel

These troubling thoughts, those dreams deferred.

I swiftly thought, the fool I am,

Those words were for mine ears alone,

That never had you uttered them ‘fore me,

Never would you repeat their sound.

And still their sweetness sends my hopes abound,

That perhaps I misread, perhaps I did not see.

Yet still I readily cast the first stone

And without thought, your motives I condemn.

How dare I charge you with this crime,

How dare I cast you with the rest.

Though the best intentions often begin,

How often they must go awry.

Lips form a smile, eyes no longer cry.

I read your words, allow the sinking in,

And savor this thought, for it is the best:

I am still yours, and you have remained mine.

As always,

Lex