Words of a hypocrite

Our pain are so different

your pain was that I left you

while my pain was the inability to find words

It was not the raging sense of hatred

while it was there

It was not the raging sense of sadness

while it was there

It was not the winding and unwinding of thoughts

while this was also there

No, it was not shame

while guilt was there

Yes, it was a sense of loneliness

when acquaintance where there

It was a sense of hunger

when food was there

Thirsty? Coke was there

when you needed water

I don’t have words.

I am a Hypocrite, a selfish, a self-proclaimed Sylvia Plath

 and a perfectionist devoid of any faults

As you can see I found words but still I deny it,

as it is humanly impossible to find the word.

Some say they miss me

Hell yes, I miss her too,

I miss her so much

I love her so much

She had so much energy, so vibe full and aesthetically pleasing,

Anyone could just randomly enter her life

play with the swings,

and she would gleefully accept and love them,
no boundaries, no limitations, so obedient and pleasing

which fool won’t love her

Which fool won’t miss her?

Now she is just pale,

no one remembers her pain,

and she can’t find the words to write her elegy

And she is a Hypocrite.