No Part in This
My dear grandmother was my best friend, she always stood by my side. She told me to stand up for myself and to never, ever hide.
One awfully woeful day, I was told that she had a tumor. I asked in wonder of what it was, and to the answer I received, I found no humor.
The cancer she had was rarely cured, but she tried her very best. She went on in life, was happy and sad and was never a sickening pest.
She went to have chemo, over and over again. That one dreadful, lousy day I lost my very best friend.
I miss her every day, and wish she were here with me. I could tell her of how my life has been, and there she’d always be.
They will never understand what it’s like to feel the spicy air hit your skin like a gentle wave, welcoming you graciously for change.
They will never understand the intonations heard in the language they would never hope to learn, but they shake their head at you anyway for it.
They will never understand the stares that plague your dreams but vanish eventually, in the end turning out to be just a part of adaptation.
They will never understand the connection you gain through speech and confusion, the struggles numerous, but the reward in the end is more than plentiful.
They will never understand the passion you find for the place you yearn to be, because they are content with where they are now.
But me, I understand that place and the people, like they sing to me in my blood and call me back for more.
Maybe their understanding doesn’t matter, because for once, I belong.
No one can tell me that love is not true, for all thoughts in my mind lead me to you.
No one can sing like you have to me, that one voice, one heart, and painful melody.
No one can babble quite like you, though the laughter you cause feels like brand new.
No one understands anything we see, they all view our love as some huge catastrophe.
“No one,” I thought, “would take over my dreams.” Though now my love for you isn’t what it seems.
“No one,” I state, “can overpower me like you, no one but us and our battles to get through.”
“No one,” You say, “is perfect to the core. No one I thought, until I knocked on your door.”
No one shall say if our love will survive, for the end is just the beginning, and our love is alive.
No Part in This
To lie for their happiness, to laugh when wishing to cry, to hide behind my mask, and hate the thought to fly.
To stay when wanting to run, to speak when summoned not, to show emotion not felt, my soul is left to rot.
Betrayal, love, emotion, experienced but not real, to beg for forgiveness, to plea no pain to feel.
My life is worth nothing, but some may disagree, for the pain I feel right now is not a part of me.
The dreams I have, the feelings I share, cannot all be true. For ideas accomplished, and words unspoken do not belong to you.