Amphigory | poetry

The Dead Flower

"Ultimately, the worst kinds of pain do not come from your enemies but the people  you trust and love."

~~ Beau Taplin //  E n e m i e s

Is it wrong?

Is it wrong that I instill hope in the hopeless?

That I fill empty drawers with big words,

And sing songs to the birds?

That I tell it everyday,

"You're alive,"

When its petals have shriveled up and died?

That my mind spins around ideas

And I allow myself to wander so far into my head,

That I've created a world with no ends?

Is it wrong?

That I tuck myself in quiet corners to laugh by myself,

That I preach equality, yet I sneer in your face?

Am I wrong?

When I accuse you without regarding the truth?

When the person who let me down the most, is the one I let lift me up every day?

Is it wrong that I lived so obliviously to a revealed truth for years,

And only acknowledged it after everything was said and done?

Is it wrong when sometimes I hate people,

When sometimes I wonder, 

"Would it go better, if it was only me?" 

And would rather people just left me alone?

Is it wrong that I don't do things I like?

That I surround myself with one thing only,

And can't make room for two in my life?

Is it okay if I say,

"I don't want to try,"

And just walk away.

Would I be like you, the one who left me in ruins?

Would I be like me, the one who jumped to conclusions?

Would I be like the dead flower that I water, the one on my windowsill?

4-20-18