Oh Doctor, it's only Honesty.

I've been....struggling...with writing lately. Not just with writing, more so with everything. It seems to get to that point every once in a while and I just can't seem to handle it. The writing seems to be the way to deal with it in a more sane manner, though the bursts in which it comes aren't always easy to deal with either. One thing you will always find on and in this blog is honesty, even in the creative writing (Though the piece following is simply a poem with no issue to me behind it). Every piece has something to do with me, with what is going on in my life, with what I just can't seem to work my mind around. These days it seems to be the issue of a heart...my heart to be more accurate. I've struggled for so long trying to find the person who fits, who I'm not shy around, who is more a like me than anyone before them. For a time I'd thought I'd found that, thought I had discovered someone that could put an end to all the searching, all the anxiety, all of the emotional strain. But in finding what I did I also found that the person who you think is the perfect one often is not on the same page. Perhaps there is a desire there to be in someway the person who you hoped they would be, but more so there is the desire to still expand their own life and perhaps at this time you simply don't fit into the plan. It's harder to deal with than I thought it would be, I thought after so many years it would just become a skin that you peeled away and discarded. A skin of sacrafice, of accepting the fate they gave you. However; it was not as easy as I had hoped to be to remove the skin. Somehow it still clings to me and even as I slowly try and pick away at it, I'm finding that I'm just not yet willing to lose it. Not just yet.


   

Oh Doctor, Doctor.

All the doctors in their sterile white coats,

     with the listeners around their necks.

They tell you everything will be fine,

              only a few tests that they need to run.

As the needle grabs at your blood,

      and fills the vial full.

Your heart beats a little faster,

                   and a sheen of sweat shows through.

The results are held gently on their lap,

   your future at their hands.

An incurable disease they tell you,

        with only months to live.

How has it gone from something so simple,

                       to the end of it all.

Oh, the doctors in their sterile white coats,

                                                    with their hearts on their sleeves.