one person's petty
is another's profound
one person's square
is another one's round
one person's lost
is another one's found
one person's pleasure source
is another one's pound

acutely aware
i have a mind of my own
i live with this, agonizingly
as i survive each day, in and out
one alone

one person's pity party
is another person's proud
one person's quiet
is another person's loud

I'd like to think i can trust myself
but so much has gone wrong,
this mind, strained by hell
the kind that comes from,
head first, diving in
to the wells of love and loyalty, heart
who knew that, here,
was the ultimate sin

I'm "like a girl",
or so they say,
who lives to please
and make your day

because i know, how awful
this place
what it feels like to be
last in the race

doesn't mean i'm a "snow", as in "flake"
I've survived muggings and beatings
and just a stupid little thing called
a few "sorta rapes"

life is hard, just harder for some
anyone "out there",
as in with a brain,
not blind, dumb

'cuz this place
wants you force fed and numb
one person's peach
is another one's plumb

you can always find me "exit sign"
searching, "escape plan", on the run

you can always find me
last on the list
as in "to do", "didn't bother"
or "oh shit, i forgot, yeah i had that bitch, done"

gazing at stars
or just plain
gazing to be gone

far away, as in, away from here
land of message,
"don't live, live in fear"
"be yourself, but don't be yourself"
cuz in order to fit,
you gotta be like everyone else

even if you suck at the game
that's ok, cuz they'll always need someone to blame
they'll always need a believer, "the bull"
it balances the scales,
those, "the intense", those "the dull"

so I'd just like to figure it out
for myself
stop needing "please believe me"
everyone else

one person's "sick"
is another one's sane
one person's loss
is another one's gain

one person's promise
is another one's pain
one person's sun
is another one's rain

I'm just one person confused
and daily struggle with the
"less than enthused"
feeling that not much here
matters anymore

one person's angel
is another one's whore....

I've been both, and trust me
it's really fucked, as in, fucked up, me
all i can do is walk, with,
across this divide

the one called the split inside
forever here, a prisoner

walking, chained
to the gang, my tribe
"blurred, fine line"



bowen hart roselli
20 july 2020
ringwald love