The Oasis
My bones have been aching
As I’ve trudged through this arid desert of love
Parched, scorching, a raging desperation
To slake my thirst on the first puddle I find.
Then I come across an oasis
And I fall to my knees at its edge,
Ready to swim in its cooling waters,
And quench my thirst after all these many years without.
Here I stay for a while,
Hoping to find rest in the lovely pool’s edge
And yet my thirst cannot be quenched
No matter how greedily I drink.
I stand under the deluge of the waterfall,
Desperately flooding my senses with it,
And yet nothing feels like enough.
Soon the oasis is depleted,
The once raging torrent now merely a trickle,
With barely anything left to supply itself.
And knowing it is at the edge of survival,
The oasis asks me to leave,
That its waters might be replenished,
That it might be restored to its former glory.
And thought my heart roars with pain, broken and shattered
I force myself to move along
Whilst bearing a most heavy disgust towards myself
For the state in which I have left this once vibrant and vital place.
And my bones ache once more,
And my eyes fall to the ground,
And onward I trudge, desperation as gnawing and exhausting as it has always been
Heartsore and discouraged that I will forever remain walking
In this barren and burning land.
I don’t think I know what love is
I don’t think I know what love is.
I don’t think I’d recognize her if she arrived at my doorstep
And greeted me and introduced herself by name.
I imagine I’d question everything about her
I think I’d ask whether she really was love,
Or just kindness, or maybe pity, dressed up in disguise
“Is that your real hair, your real eye color, your real voice?”
“Are you trying to play me the fool?”
“Is this a practical joke?”
“You’re a fraud and a hoax,
And you won’t get the best of me.”
Then she’d look at me sadly, with tears in her eyes
And turn and move on, say good bye
I’d close the door, triumphant and proud
That I’d seen through her deceit, called out her scam
That I hadn’t been cast as the clown
When really what happened was that I missed out on love
And wound up the fool after all.
Teach her to love herself
Give a starved girl love,
And she will cling to you.
Teach her to love herself,
And watch her blossom before you
Echoes
“Why are you even upset about this?”
“You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”
“There are people who have it so much worse than you.”
“Your pain is illegitimate.”
It doesn’t seem to matter the context,
The situation, or reason, or conditions.
The victim of abuse, the survivor of war,
The burnt-out overworked mother;
The eldest daughter, the foster kid,
The one whose life just can’t come together.
We all feel the same, our critiques are alike,
Our thoughts echo each other unknowingly.
We all stare out at the world around us
And see only our pain’s invalidity.
Comparison is the thief of joy,
Well, it seems it’s the thief of pain as well.
Somehow we’re all convinced that ours doesn’t count
“Cause there’s someone worse off than you.”
Well guess what? It’s true –
There is someone worse off than you.
And to be honest that fact will never change.
But here’s the secret –
Come close, I’ll whisper it:
What matters is the pain inside you.
It doesn’t matter whose context is worse,
It doesn’t change what happens inside:
The emotion is still there,
The pain still demands to be felt –
Whether war or abuse or an overdue paper –
Each person can only face what’s in front of her.
So perhaps your situation isn’t the worst in the world
Don’t let that result in self-judgment.
Because odds are that person you’re comparing yourself to
Is thinking the same thing as you.
like you
it’s just hard to imagine that
anyone can do anything more than
tolerate me, I told him
yeah, he said,
it must be difficult to believe that
the rest of us like you
when you don’t like yourself