Seasons

I tried, but I guess I still failed.

I could write an entire trilogy about how many times I’ve believed the lie of maybe this time will be different.

I get ridiculed, judged, and manipulated daily about how others view my life and how I should be living it.

And what makes me put this down on paper is the fact that these comments come from people I wouldn’t want to live without.

So I withhold the shouts and the screams, and like the master actor I am I pretend that this isn’t killing me.

Recently I’ve tried to talk to one of these people.

I feel like I did my best to explain and reason. But somehow my words and emotions still didn’t reach them. 

How f*****g foolish am I. 

To believe after all these seasons that those I hold most dear, would try to understand me. 

Without my body being in a coffin as the reason.