You look the other way when she passes
And you’re too ashamed to look her straight in the face and say the key words,
By pretending to be godly while everyone else is under-worldly
You diminish yourself in stature,
Maturity is calling your name fewer times than it calls mine.
That pain inside your chest compresses insecurity,
But what else is going to join that reaction
If you only look at the repercussions of others?
Perhaps you’re wearing blinding shades
To fake your ice-coldness towards the rest.
When you’re sad you’ll have one less person
To turn to.
When you push everyone away
—and you will—
You’ll complain that life makes one bitter.
Or you can just say you’re sorry.