Truth Is

Truth is, I haven’t been honest with you,

Either of us, in fact.

I say I’m fine, when really my riverbed runs dry,

Since all I seem to do is cry.

I tell you I’m happy, but that’s another lie.

It’s what I wish to be; But anxiety again takes hold of me.

I thought, I was finally free.

My body aches, I should be asleep,

But I’ve been dreaming all day,

Thinking of what love truly means.

The soul in me runs dry and yet I keep digging.

Why is that.

On the sidelines waiting for you to see me,

As I dream each day and night,

Waiting to be a mother and wife.

I used to dream of so much more than this,

It’s infuriating.

I believed my sensitivity was a godlike strength,

But now I only feel delicate, and tender.

Like I’m about to break. Maybe I am.

How much more can I really take? I feel like I’m at my limit in so many ways.

Pushing through, looking past myself to get to you;

But, I cannot do that this time around.

My heart trembles in fear as I begin to let you near again,

How did I end up this way? I’m not sure what to think or what to say.

So, what is love?

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.