How many mistakes can you make,
what does it take to mess up just once,
twice,
again and
again.
How much pain can you cause,
and do you try to rub away the marks,
pretend they didn’t exist,
wish it didn’t happen again.
How many mistakes did he make,
could you list them,
count them on your hand,
was he a good man?
Would mummy and daddy be proud?
How many problems were aloud?
Did he claw at the door when you kicked it shut,
asked him to go away,
but let him stay when he
begged you to give him another chance.
Did she say she was sorry,
so you could have one day where you
didn’t worry,
where you could say it was okay,
it was fine.
Can you wipe away what you did,
create a space and fill it,
fill it with every wrong,
because there just aren’t enough
rights.
How many mistakes have you made,
count them in your head,
imagine them whilst you lay in your bed,
not sleeping,
just surviving.
How many times did you say
I love you,
and take it back,
what did you lack inside to feel that way,
did it make you happy?
How many hearts did you break,
or how many orgasms did you fake,
call it a great time,
call it a laugh,
then call them stupid behind
their back.
How many words do you wish you could
take back?
Eat them up,
chew them down,
rewrite that you’ve been a clown for the past years.
How many things do you fear?
Do you feel the end draw near?
Or do you know life goes on forever,
but we cease to exist.
How many kisses do you wish you’d created?
And do you see them in your dreams?
Is life not what it seems?
How many mistakes can you make?
How many apologies can you say?
Or is there too many mistakes,
and just not enough
days.
LegallyFierceFeminist 