it doesn't mean anything unless you allow it to,
and yet i know i am the pot calling the kettle
black;


i can warm my heart with just a few batteries,
but i can't seem to unplug the pain.


i suppose this is what everyone waits to see,
sitting high on the roof watching me roll around in mud.


they could come running, i know,
but it doesn't mean a thing
unless they allow it to.



12/27/2008
Posted on 12/27/2008
Copyright © 2024 Ava Blu

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 12/28/08 at 12:03 AM
It's all about choice, right? I think part of the problem is that sometimes, it's not that a person doesn't want to help, it's just that they look at someone else in need and all they can think about is their own disastrous life, if that makes sense. This is definitely the most interesting of the December poems. It's pretty damn outstanding, too.
Posted by Melissa Panther on 12/28/08 at 12:35 AM
The snapshots here are perfect...but it really all does come down to meaning...I like the way you bring that to point.