Tilt-o-whirl

[grimsunlight]

I'm tired of being entrapped by this personality.
I do not wish to be liked or adored,
Because in the hand of adoration,
Hate is held.
I cannot find one without the other.
Nor love without pain,
No heart can be opened and not expire.
An open heart is no better than a carton of sour milk;
A sour heart.

No life is sweet in any achievable sense.
The bird does not constantly sing and the sun does not forever shine.
Life does not flow like a river.
Our eyes are sealed to achieve perfection.
We strive for something we are designed to fall short of.
Is there not something cruel in that equation?
To live a life of everlasting disappointment?
If I am so loved, then why am I so flawed?
But love itself is a flaw.
It is a two-edged blade,
With life at its handle.
Both swinging in uniform momentum,
To free the stitch in our eyes,
And flood us with shadows of our imperfect light.
And live the guarantee
Of an overall
Flawed
And miserable
Life.

The scale is imbalanced,
The fight is rigged.
And I am once again left,
Ultimately,
Disappointed.