Wednesday, 15 May 2013

What I call a conscience.

You're the dull ache in the pit of my stomach. The feeling of dread when there's something up. That well-named gut feeling. The thing that enables me to feel butterflies one minute and fuming anger the next, well, that and a very slight tendency to overreact. A horrible feeling meeting a smiley, happy-go-lucky one. And what happens when hot and cold air meet? They clash. Truth V Lies. Denial V Reality. Battles that are bound to end badly, but do we care? Do we hell!

I've confided in friends and then hated myself for it.  For the way they reacted when I did just that. I have started to think it's unfair to depend solely on my friends who want the best for me, because sometimes they don't hold the right answers, or the best ones, or the ones you really want to hear. But that's all okay. I was, perhaps naively, hoping for some advice minus judgement, but I'm not sure that's possible when friends are involved. There's a thin line between wanting the best for someone, and actually just wanting to appear right. It's a blessing in disguise though. Friends want the best for you and I know, I'd run into a burning building for a few of my closest girls, no matter the consequences.

I don't do poetry. This isn't really an attempt, but it is, sort of. It's not meant to be great and profound. But honest. After all, fellow bloggers have praised me for my somewhat-honest outlook. The truth doesn't always hurt.

I want to trust you,
but only for the right reasons,
no wrong answers
or bad decisions
I'm sick of that.
I'm through with that.
The awful demeaning
nasty feeling
in the pit
of your stomach
that tells you,
no, -scratch that,
screams at you,
that this,
is a bad idea.
That this is just
another one
in the huge list
of bad ideas
brought to you,
by the ministry of Are You Stupid?

Tell me what I need to hear, not what I want to hear.

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