The Third Side

To every story — A poem

So easy to get lost in the waste of the human race. Going from Monday to Sunday, recycling the same boring place. Sometimes I like to stand in a doorway just to have a break from being stuck in a room or the hallway. I see myself as the picture of envy, with empathy that leaves my tears and shame on the shoreline. Where my tears will never be as dry as the land and my shame will never be as deep as the ocean. If brutal honesty painted a picture of the answer that really wants to hold accountable. Would it look like someone who wants us all to contribute like them? Would our little secrets be there too and give us all away? Maybe trying to take back our space was the wrong push. The whole picture is not as simple as perfect timing turning tragic. As there are always three sides to every story. My story, your story, and the truth.

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