I am…

By: Cindy Moon

I'll love myself more tomorrow, but not much more than yesterday.

I'll love myself even more when I find the surer way.

But how can I

When all I do when I'm wrong is spit it back in your face?

I don't bother with your help; resentment does the bliss replace.

It's funny.

So vulnerable I am when you tell me you love me, when you help me fly,

yet if you leave no sad tears for you would I allow myself to cry.

So quick to act with vengeance and its sweetness in my veins,

yet I cannot hold the grudge for I'm so frightened of the pain.

Where do I have to go?

My sarcastic tone no longer is amusing.

I tend to be lost; it's so lonely and confusing.

My life's unfair scarred with death and sorrow.

In the end it's more faith I truly need to borrow.

Does the cycle ever stop?

Save me from my quicksand,

should my gravity be the untimely end.

Save me from the match I light that'll burn me at my stake,

but worry not my countenance tells you I'm okay though the happiness is fake.

I guess I'll still love myself even more tomorrow.

I just hate it that you know.