Too often I feel I’m on a road going nowhere,
and that I’m always judged never good enough
to be loved, tears flowing down my body richly
as rain in the gutters on neat house walls cute
decorated with plants. Always an outsider and
feeling “not belonging” I bumps into walls and
walls and all those walls everywhere I go. Still
I keep on write the same on them walls – about
love and longing and loneliness, whatever what
is and will be – and that is how it is with me.
Yet you asked me such as “why do you always…”
and made me feel questioned and defensive. But
maybe you really wanted to know me and maybe
you wanted to understand me. But do you know
so well your own underlying feelings and motives?
Or were I as an alien to you? I certainly wishes to
be understood and accepted by people. But you
were not “people” and by you I only wanted to be
loved. No questions and with no “but”. But a “but”
was what you gave to me! Now I’m the road again!