I wonder if I’m making a mountain out of a mole,
Or if I’m not nearly as worried as I should be.
It’s hard to distinguish you from role to role,
Not knowing from minute to minute who you’re going to be.

Sometimes, I feel ungrateful that I’m me.
But in the end,
Would it be worse to be you, the one who cannot see
That I love you, that I’m your friend?

A friend that cries not only because of you, but for you;
For your sadness, your loneliness, any and all of your pain.
You have no concept of what I would do
To keep you from hurting, to keep you from pain.

If only we’d open our eyes
And stopped trying to find someone else to blame,
Maybe we’d realize
That in one way or another, we all suffer the same.

Christina Bledsoe

Tags: Christina's Poetry //