Poetry

Why

Why.

Something destroyed for my own benefit?
It's killing me
Nothing seems right
Arrows keep me on the target
Hitting it over and over again
Thinking
Your my target
Either good
Or
Bad.
Looking straight down the arrow
Focusing
Eyes on the target
But then a hand goes to my shoulder
And the other hand lowering
My arrow and bow
Turning me around
And asking
"What are you doing?"
Me
Stunned
Not knowing what to say or do
But I drop my bow and arrow
They pull me in for a hug
And I start to cry
"It's ok,"
I hear
"It's ok."