Pickled
Solo and Ensemble contest was this Saturday
And I was asked not to go
My youngest daughter had a part
She sang her pretty songs.
My pickle is the bitterness in my heart I hold
Is more or less a cancer for my soul
And it’s turning my personality ice cold.
I had it in my mind exactly what I was going to do,
The pickle was that I was angry
And revenge I wanted to exact
But I stopped and cried and cried
Because I really wanted a broken relationship back.
I know why it broke,
And I can’t say I am not to blame
The problem I have narcissistic, by psychological name.
And my pickle is that I can’t change the past
And so my thoughts spiral out of control.
No one offers hope when you are down
Good luck to fixing that
Because she is hurt too
Redemption is not a thing I might get
And its not something I expect to ever find.
Like the sour pickle sits in a bath of vinegar.
I don’t expect a relationship pure,
But I hope for a do over
I know it’s much to expect.
Do you know that I live with regret?
Copyright © Miranda Hawley | Year Posted 2020
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