We are too suspicious
when we find the hearts we can trust,
too burdened when they trust us back,
too careless towards what is ours.
We are too vain to apologize
and too distracted to stay in love.
We have stored up so much loneliness
and so many expectations
that nothing quite matches up to the standards we have.
Tag Archives: trust
We are too suspicious
There is one step
where I slip every time.
And just because I know now to jump across it,
doesn’t mean it ceased to exist.
It just means I have to keep reminding myself
what to avoid.
Sadly, the trivial betrayals and their deeper hurt
doesn’t reform my trusting heart.
My aloofness is just a way to ensure
that others don’t know of this.
I’ll sit down and tell you
how many times I have betrayed your trust
by being a person that you don’t know me as.
And you tell me the same.
But can you assure me,
that we will sit here and keep talking on
about other things again?
If you can’t answer
and if you don’t want to know,
then probably we seek more than answers from each other
and truth probably isn’t our cup of tea.
For I want you to keep looking at you
the way I do now
and facing reality seems like a big mistake.
My voice no longer cracks
at the mention of loss,
or at the mention of love
(once they always followed each other
like ants in search for food)
I have grown a new heart,
that doesn’t want to be covered with shields,
that is capable of losing without bitterness,
that can hold your hand and trust your stride
even when it cannot trust itself.
. When the pain hits my face
. (those hands used to the have the softest touch)
. my skin would have broken up in the ugliest ways,
. if the same hands wouldn’t have rushed
. to cradle the crying me
. without losing a second.
. The pain was gone as soon as it came.
. This skin has a way of healing
. that seems to me as
. an unfaithfulness,
. a betrayal.
. As if, even my body
. didn’t want to leave any evidence
. that could justify my tears and my mistrust.
. I have again invited the pain, the consequence
. of being “broken too many times”.
. The word “broken”
. seems like a shiny ornament
. that is meant to distract my eyes,
. my eyes
. that are anyway not capable
. of seeing things for what they are.
. I no longer trust my mind
. that doesn’t know
. the reason for the anger (that I awakened in others),
. the disappointments
. written in neon lights on the darkening faces,
. that doesn’t have any account of how I ended up becoming
. a person
. this bad, this wrong, this fragile, this cruel.
The discomfort of the afternoon rains
that turns into monologues,
for the one who can never be lost.
Who can only be found in sleep now.
They say what I see,
what I feel,
is what they call dream,
just a delusion to avoid.
I can feel the ground that I walk on
and can trust the hearts that I lean on?
Why must I leave this place?
Only place where I can love
and be worthy of being loved.