Untitled 39

I stand alone, exhausted in front of your gate
Tortured by the memories of all including the date
Torn between going back to the emptiness of nothing
Or staying back awaiting your promises of sweet nothings

On my tiredness a passersby comments
Mortified at the sight of my blood dripping colouring the cement
From bruises gotten by knocking on your gate with my hands and feet
The gory sight, a debacle on your street

Before you, I stand alone, exposed, debased and dismayed
I can't help but reminisce on my imperfect shade
Created with flaws but in it, I felt safe, secure
Here I can't help but feel miniature

What would life have been like without that encounter?
What did you stand to gain after?
All you need is all that is in your corner, in your hands
There's no more or better in faraway lands

I didn't imagine or covet your invitation
Why humiliate me by closing the gate
It wasn't all roses and luxury but I was content with my fate
I stand shut out, helpless not to say a word or question your decision

The majority of my days are spent in silence
Sometimes unrestrained words are jotted down
Wobbly and weak in the battle to maintain my balance
These waters are coming for nothing but to drown

In another season of the dark clouds
All that is needed is to be away from the judging eyes of the roaring crowds
The shade and covering is gone
It is a long way home and to the sun