The Chronicler of Sad Things

I tell myself listening to those who hurt helps. I tell myself this because most of the time, that's all I can do

I am the chronicler of sad things

I listen as I hear the story about how she never felt pretty

She hid behind a fake smile but felt empty

A boy told her the things she needed to hear

Made her feel how she longed to feel

But he was still a boy

And could not be a man when she needed one

 

I am the chronicler of sad things

I watch as children feel they aren’t good enough

Aren’t smart enough

Aren’t funny enough

Who feel they can’t contribute

They defend against word forged weapons are sent to kill, maim, and destroy

For no other reason than the wielder feels just as empty

Parents tell their children they are mistakes

Outcasts

Wastes of potential

And their eyes cannot look up past the floor

 

I am the chronicler of sad things

I feel the need of desperation for someone

Anyone

To step in and pick them up

All they search for is someone to believe in them

See and hear them

Someone to tell them they can

Someone to make them feel beautiful

Not just how they look, but to feel beautiful

To see the worth in themselves they can only get from outside

They want to be happy

 

But still

I am the chronicler of sad things

I listen

I watch

I feel

I hope that they listen to me, but…

I fear all I can do is record and observe

I am not the one who they are listening for

My words fall on hardened hearts

Who look to the ones who failed them

Reviews

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*Welcome to "Pure Rhymes" Thanks for joining, great to have you...!*

Who is this chronicler of all these great/horrible things...? I feel the wistfulness and strength depleted, not enough... This great recorder of events... I commend him, keep the slate clean... Soften hearts... Keep writing... Wonderful stuff...