Mess

I was taught to clean up messes Even if they were other peoples’ I guess that’s why I try to repair hearts that I didn’t break Retrieve souls that I didn’t take And slay monsters that I didn’t make But I never imagined that some recoveries Would take longer than expected I’ve made the discovery that The best truths are cryptic And as I suspected The worst personalities are always scripted So I’m wondering, are you actually that callous? A person who enjoys the misery of those they claim to love But how could you possibly love When you’re acting solely out of malice? Are you actually that cold? Last time I checked Your temperature rose and cheeks flushed To the shade of red as the hair of the one whom you sought affection As if I wasn’t paying attention To the way you shielded your emotions And rambled on about just being realistic At night, you’d cradle yourself in your own apathetic commotion You see, I was also taught to be realistic And on the road to being realistic I took a wrong turn and found my way to being hateful Reminiscing about the love I never received in the past While currently being ungrateful To the love that may or may not be right in front of me I’ll let you in on a little secret We’re all just a little broken inside We all tend to hide behind “I’m fine” and “life’s good” Because even if we could, Finally find the words to express ourselves It doesn’t mean we should. Yeah, it’s our twisted way of justifying our need to being stoic Because there’s nothing heroic about wearing your heart on your sleeve Why bother? ‘Cause everyone just leaves. But that’s why I’m here To help you grieve.