By Mac Guerreiro
A petulant child,
That’s what eye turn into,
Pushing everyone and everything away because eye feel eye have to,
Because if they all get away then they’ll be okay,
My emotions won’t reach them,
And therefore burden them,
They’ll be safe,
Or so eye tell myself to justify this act that’s surely toxic for my health,
But don’t roses only stay beautiful because their thorns keep the pickers away?
Or do they remain so because gentle hands are willing to tend to them and stay?
Do my thorns make me unlovable?
How do eye keep them at bay?
How do eye tell them that eye’ve finally found people whom love me?
How do eye ask them to stand down?