honest

the ugly words
reflect the author
the beautiful words
showcase the muse
the sorrow
shows the past
while the uncertain
hints at the future

with every
i love you
i fear
i poison the pot

a lifetime of
reminders
that i never seem
to be quite enough
emotionally absent
while silently
screaming the words
that choke me

what happens
when i
eventually
get around
to screwing us up?
i don’t want to
but what happens
when the fact
that i have
always been
lesser than
outshines
the talented tongue?
it isn’t a case of
insecurity
it is evidence of
past performance
being indicative
of future return.

these are the things normal people think, i think, but not the things normal people scream in the face of happinesses incumbant but love means being honest and i will be fucked if honesty isn’t my biggest fault

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