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Poem

I’m with a partner, on occasion, if I’m lucky,
But just as luck is, it’s never there for long.
Family and friends are always around,
Yet no matter who’s there, alone I am.
Always the lover, never the loved,
The hardest thing to do, to hold onto myself.

Happiness is false, the mask I must don,
To show that I am there, I can be relied on.
Family and friends, true to their name,
Treat me as such, their not to blame.
Partners it seems, their purpose is to do,
Treat me like the dirt that lies under their shoe.

A matt to be trodden on, left on the floor,
Used as their need takes, ignored until then.
Beaten occasionally, then dropped back to the ground,
Looked upon in disgust until I’m needed, yet again.
The dirt is ground in deep, forced into my fibres, 
Yet I endure this torture, trying to find a measure of peace.

The dirt ground in, festers inside, filling me with sadness, anger and hate,
Begging me to turn the tide of my fate.
Use them first, before they can use me,
Give into my dark, become an arsehole, let them see.
With all I have been through, it would be easy to do,
But what would happen to me?... I’d loose me too.

So keep to my morals, treat as I would be treated,
Get used and discarded then used a bit more.
Keep taking my punishment, dreaming of peace,
However it comes, happiness or death, what ever my fate.
Painfully hard, resisting temptation,
The hardest thing to do, to hold onto myself.

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