Not at all about you.
Never about you,
Yet somehow… always
About you it seems.
Look at me and you'll see.
I've been waiting an eternity
For you to lay your eyes on me.
I've been here waiting patiently.
It's the oldest line in the book:
'It's not you, it's me! '
The words wouldn't come out,
I couldn't bring myself to speak.
If only you could draw your eyes away
From inside yourself you'd realize,
Without doubt, that you were right all along
And I am the one who has wronged.
It was not that you wouldn't listen,
It's that my words are better off written.
It is not that you lacked my trust,
But that I care far too much.
Not to mention you were biased.
You had your own burdens to carry
And mine would have made them too heavy.
I didn't need you to fight; it was my plight.
It hurts to say and to hear,
But this wasn't your battle field.
I fell and I broke,
And scraped everything
From my head down to my toes.
My skin peeled off, my insides were raw.
My finger nails were gone after clawing back up.
'I did it all by myself',
Like a child proudly displaying their days work;
Not so much crayon as blood and dirt, and hope.
Hope because I didn't enjoy the process,
But I'm done and need your word to move on.
I had to.
Not a want.
'I did it all by myself', so it's not about you; it's me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem