It appears my heart is either kind to you or me;
Far too often, it chooses you.
But when that realisation hits and the tension is released,
It seems to choose me.

I do not wish to think the worst and flee;
Thus, the process of rationalisation starts anew,
For using anger to let go of those bothersome worries,
Is nothing but lying my way into being cowardly.

Be brave.

Words from a fictional world that once meant so much. That is long forgotten, but those words remain in my heart.

All the incredibly ridiculous things I've said and done all my life... one can only hope they amount to something, and are note solely a source of embarrassment.

But what do I do with these questions? Even years later, they may not go away.
And they leave me skeptical about trusting people...

The dangers in my heart are only a threat to me, so I beg you all:
Please do not play games with my tears.
Please listen to me, see me, and wait.
Please do not ignore my concerns and fears.
Please do not tell me what I should appreciate.
Please do not tease me about the kindness I have received from life.
Please do not underestimate my lessons and force us apart.
Please do not incite my anxiety to run rife.
Please do not be indelicate with my time and heart.

For when you do, you make my heart more dangerous for me.

(In reality, it is not as if my heart is unkind to me;
It simply is fragile, and needs some care.
I try my best, but it seems I want to give to others.
But now I must ensure I have enough left for me, too;

For I still carry all that pain in my heart,
While everyone else leaves me behind.)