The butter without peanuts

It’s often easy to give in to the belief that things will never change. I’ve been told that belief is what makes our reality, so perhaps I need to believe more and my reality will be as I desire? It seems easier said than done though…

Belief

It’s not often, but enough for it to feel as though it’s more.

I can distract myself so as to limit its power, though the wound remains raw.

To be amongst people yet to feel so alone, they’re all rich whilst I remain poor.

I write down my thoughts to get them out, though I then lock them away in a drawer.

I’m alone too much, yet I’ve come so far in spite of this, this is no battle it’s a war.

I fight little, I wait much and hope that one night you’ll appear at my door.

It’s not always to be like this, I’ve made mistakes, but I’ve broken no law.

I wonder how it will change, I listen to learn but I don’t yet write my own score.

The feedback is silent, once filled I’m now emptied, of this darkness I abhor.

I reach out to others, they rarely reach back, instead of a hand I’m given a claw.

So I dig and I scrape, to turn around this cruel fate, I’m like the dog with no paw.

I hobble onward knowing it’s never too late, the highs I can rate, so I rise off the floor.

You’ll come when I least expect, we both will, again and again, this seed is a spore.

It grows, new life, our life and if not, I’ll remain alone, but I won’t wilt, I will roar!

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