An excercise in futility

So this was just an exercise in futility

a workbook where you practiced writing your name.

A place where you had come to learn your lessons

and it seems that it was all I meant to you.

You learned your limitations and your boundaries

by stretching mine once you touched my heart.

I guess that’s the danger of meeting people blindly

and trusting them on the weight of their words alone.

I told you what I felt from the depth of my heart

I told you that things were hard for me to take.

I told you that I was trying to be honest

you said, “tell me everything, let’s get to the heart of this”.

Never again to trust a stranger’s words

even one masquerading as a friend.

Someone who is trying you on, to find themself

only to find that the fit doesn’t work for them.

It’s not your fault, or maybe it is, doesn’t matter

my heart hurts and I’m questioning everything about me again.

Based on the fact that you set forth the rules

and I’ve no choice but to let it all lay where it is.

Broken on the floor in tiny pieces

left in silence, unrecognized for its worth.

Your impression is all that seems to matter

that’s fine, for me, I’ve lived through this before.

The intrinsic nature of opening your heart

is in itself the action of a fool.

Leaving yourself wide open without protection

no chance to cover the frailty of your wounds.

I told you everything, everything that I felt

I also told you it scared the hell out of me.

The voice that you used when you spoke to me

is apparently not the one you use every day.

I remember when you wanted me to hear you sing

and the intimate act of calling me though you got scared.

I thought it was Me that you wanted to hear You.

Not just that you have this desperate need

to be heard.

I get it now, I see what I hadn’t seen

that we have no idea who each other really is.

We got caught up in coincidence and lost in pretty words

and what those things meant to each of us.

So I guess for me, now it’s a lesson too

in the aftermath, I had better find something to hold.

Something more than this dark and sickening feeling

that I am the only one who did something wrong.