Monday, July 11, 2011

Sede Vacante: NOT a Poem about Mystery (sort of)

What eyes did I use to see
That we were ever meant to be?
So blind and confused was I
So sure yet so shy

How could I force myself to believe
That your love on me, you'd heave
I was so confused and blind
That I could not leave you behind

Like a beetle drawn to the light,
I thought I could stand and fight
But your ships and planes, they took me down
My heart sent crashing, without a sound

And how was I to know
That what I wanted, you did not show?
How was I so deceived,
My love unrequited, unreceived

You're a perfect person and for me, that's far too much
I prefer people with flaws, mistakes and such
Because when I look at you, I do not see a happy me
I see myself trapped in your shadow, never to be free

I cannot handle such defeat
I want a girl who I can treat
With simple joys from my heart, sincere
Who'd love me for me, as I am here

So empty now is the throne in my heart
That has been pierced by pins, arrows, and darts
The seat is vacant, waiting for a queen
Whose imperfections can actually be seen

For my kind of perfect is flawed like me
Not faultless and spotless as is she
My kind of perfect wouldn't break my back
My kind of perfect would be calm and slack

My kind of perfect would not make me feel
As worthless as a piece of rusted steel
My kind of perfect would make me feel at ease and at home
Not like a cube trying to fit into a dome

And so my spark was not a flame
And I find myself so much to blame
For jumping into a fire with which I could not deal
Leaving me with wounds that will take so long to heal

I guess that the hardest thing is to love an angel
There must be a reason why from heaven she fell
A reason that for now, I cannot tell
A reason that has dragged me to hell

And so I write out all my frustration
As I crawl in pain like a scared crustacean
With armor that will not dissolve
If around some girl my world does revolve

And though the pain I faced was harsh,
I have crawled out of this infernal march
To face the world and all it has
For always half-full is my glass

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