My pain is my pain

It cannot be overtaken

And though your words suggest

That it has no merit

I cannot rid myself

Of this ennui.

My openings are encumbered

And even in speaking

I am not saved.

It is inevitable that I am broken,

Nothing else makes sense.

As a child I was content

To be others, to pretend

As an adult I am unable

To maintain such pretenses.

I keep running into myself

Within others and it is she

That rejects me whilst

They pass unknowingly