"I've had my fill of sorrow." By Ben Goode 2013 (c)

It needs to stop.
This malevolence, this discontent.
A travesty. Misguided, misadventure.
I feel like a beggar in the streets.
Humble. Forgiving.
Maybe too much so.
You think you know me?
I am invisible to you. Nothing.
And yet you were everything to me.
I wear rags of confidence. Tattered, torn, weathered.
Obvious. And nothing to hide.
Covering my feelings, with a second-hand blanket.
But there is no warmth.
A winter’s breeze,
A frosty breath of unspoken words.
No abuse. No need. No point!
Just a sigh. An acceptance. Not destiny.
Sitting with my loyal puppy.
Not looking anymore, for sympathy.
And I've had my fill of sorrow.