To what end
Can we pour from a cup
Cracked in two,
Apathy and misery
Bleeds through,
The cracks clamber up
The tree of tales,
We filled another’s cup
To the very brim
And left ours upturned.
Devout and holy
In our love,
We prostrated ourselves
For hours
Waiting,
Our calls unanswered
We grew impatient,
Yet for all the pain
Never did we turn away,
We poured until we grew empty
Our heart, our soul
Such was the power of their sway.
It wasn’t for the want of love
Or recognition,
We roamed the deserts
Of our parched existence,
In search for
Mere acceptance,
The pond of love seemed deep
In its deception,
We fell in
With acceptance.
Cursed are we
With a heart of glass,
Shattered easily
Pulled apart,
Filled with sentimentality
We pour and pour,
Into chalices
Cursed to hunger evermore.
Love, laughter, lust and more
We gave without judgement
Without question,
In return we waited for acceptance,
I envy those who can walk by
With simply a smile,
While we crack in two
Beneath our disguise.
How easy must it be
to never feel?
To walk by with nary a tear,
While we piece together
the shards of our existence
Governed by your acceptance,
To pour into you
All that is us,
Our poor attempt to be free,
We pour into you,
Until we are empty.
