Paula M. Puddephatt
You trust. You hurt. I know the score, so why
do I let myself care? Why do I try
at all? Must my emotions always win?
By now, I must be on my final spin.
I cannot survive much more rejection.
Take it all - my genuine affection -
but just don't chuck it straight back in my face.
I wish that I could hold back, just in case
I end up hurt again. I wanted to.
Yet, still I trust - because it's what I do.
I live. I learn. What difference does that make?
Another fragment of my heart will break
each time, until I have no heart at all.
Then, I'll get to hide at last - behind my self-erected wall.
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Comments about this poem (Final Spin by Paula M. Puddephatt )
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