The horse drawn
carriage promises of love
are not the
realities of the ride.
The misfits of
this circus are not strangers;
they are us. Searching for someone
to help us
hide our flaws.
Someone else’s
perfect life
we can step
our feet into
because
joining theirs is better
than facing
what is left in ours. Nothing.
The
nothingness of what’s inside;
the weak insecurities
of a young lost child.
We all want a
hand to hold,
someone to
lift us when we’re down,
but relying on
ourselves should be our first task,
not finding
another clown to caravan in our charade.
