It Doesn't Have to Be
It’s all so damn hard.
This love and loving,
Trust and trusting,
You will not hurt me.
Damn it’s hard,
It’s to damn hard.
So impossibly hard
To Cling to the furry
To feel so safe,
When I was yelling
Like some mad woman...
With the fury fading,
I don’t know why
I went insane.
Damn it’s hard.
It’s to damn hard.
And all that’s left
Is the ghost of you.
The all I dreamed for, misty,
Memory, ghost of you.
The you I didn’t get,
The love lost and hurt,
The fear it was my fault.
And as sad as I am,
And as sad as this always is,
The saddest part,
The saddest part of all,
The part I cry about,
Is that it doesn’t have to be.
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Comments about this poem (It Doesn't Have to Be by Sandra Osborne )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
William Carlos Williams
(17 September 1883 – 4 March 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
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(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
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(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
James Whitcomb Riley
(7 October 1849 - 22 July 1916)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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