With me,
it's either too many emotions,
or not enough.
"She's cold."
"She's funny."
"She's too hard to handle."
"Her heart is in the right place."
"She's such a bitch."
"You can't please everyone,"
they try to tell me.
But I can't seem to please anyone.
The jokes run out.
My patience runs out.
Words just spill out,
and no one ever understands.
I'll cling to who ever stays
because everyone always leaves.
And whether I hold too tight,
or keep them at arm's length,
they leave anyway.
I'm not sure what I could have done,
to make any of them stay.
Sure, it wasn't all my fault;
they weren't good for me,
But the good ones won't even step my way.
It's not like I don't try;
I try so hard to be perfect.
But no one seems to notice,
and if they do, they don't care.
But I've consented to my fate,
to an empty house, and empty bed,
Wrought iron fences, cobwebs, and hate.
And fifty cats living on my estate.
~ E J Royson
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