My Turn

I look at the two of you and I feel sick,

Sick because your love is like a blistering sore to me,

Like an irritating scab that just won’t go away,

An unhealthy feeling,

This cloud of despair and anger,

Beginning to take hold of me,

I know,

I know,

I can’t say it without sounding pathetic,

I can’t say it without sounding stupid,

I can’t say it without sounding week,

I know,

Because I sound like this to myself,

My looks,

My personality,

It seems to only find the unreliable,

The unstable,

The ones with a lack of direction,

Or the ones controlled by an indecisive mind,

One or more of these qualities seek me out like a missile following a heat signature,

These qualities that seem to seek me just to plague my life,

Am I not a good person?

I know I have imperfections that show themselves every now and again like a naughty child out for destruction but this can’t be the reason for this feeling,

In my chest beats the heart of a romantic, even though I do not let it show,

And I just want it to be my turn,

My turn to be happy,

My turn to feel special,

My turn to see and feel the warmth of my lover,

That warmth that radiates from their body and rises just because they are next to me,

I want to hold hands walking along a lake on a sunny afternoon,

I want these things but I don’t have them, and it frustrates me.

The thoughts that may cross your mind might vary, maybe thoughts like,

Whinny?

Pathetic?

I know I irritate myself with the same thoughts, but I fear loneliness,

I fear it above all else,

What do I do if the one I believe to be coming never crosses my path?

What do I do if the only thing that comes close to ‘meaningful’ is just a string of failed encounters?

Or what if this intense fear drives me to settle,

Settle for a mediocre life and love because the hope of a remarkable one becomes a fantasy,

A fantasy purely from the imagination,

Forcing my hope to dwindle until I simply believe that something better will just not come,

Hope is something that we hold onto but it seems the longer we hold on to it with this firm grasp the more it turns to dismay…