Why do you let broken people fall in love with the ones that are just as broken?
Why must you subject the ones who have seen and felt so much pain to even more pain?
Why do you feel the need to let me suffer when you know good and well that I want no other?
Why must I scream at the clouds and tell them how I feel because I am too afraid to tell him?
Why must I be confused as to why my brain feels a certain way and then forget that my body feels as well.
Why am I subjected to the social experiments that you conduct to see if someone as twisted as me can still walk after being beaten down.
Why do people think that if I'm lying on the ground, tied down, that somehow I'd be closer to God?
Why do you let people like me see others for their true colors somehow letting the fact that 'the truth can hurt' slip past you like the hot water running down my back as I sit in the shower, wondering how many more hours until my soul would want to leave.
Why do I love him?
Why should I care?
Why should I have these scars to bare and why should I smile at people trying to make me feel better?
Why do these people who do not share my blood act as if they did?
Why do men think that I am expendable?
Why must I be a piece of trash on the side of the road, waiting for some sad soul to pick me up and sell me for a quick buck?
Why am I a victim in a world full of murderers?
Why does fire create art, yet it burns me?
Why do you let broken people fall in love?
Why do you let scratched people fall in love?
Why do you let fallen people fall even further in love?
Why did you let me fall in love?
Why.
YOU ARE READING
Words.
PoetryThis is a book I write in to relieve my mind of the horror it creates for itself. Poems or not, they're words. Definitions or examples, they're words. My words. Read it or not, they're my words.
