Beliefs

(Erika Poling)

"If feelings were words inked on our bodies I think we’d help the ones we saw suffering If we were pages of a book, and could Place somebody with what they’ve written We’d offer ourselves to them, in a way Maybe a little different"

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I once believed 
In the things they teach 
Naive beliefs and dreams 
I can no longer hold onto or reach 

They tell you life’s a circle 
A ring so beautiful 
Personifying a certain pureness 

Some of us don’t understand the purpose 
Some of us think thoughts not in print, but cursive 
It’s hard to comprehend, your story
When you read you’re worthless 
Never being able to see 
Never believing you’re worth it 

Holding onto all the words that hurt you 
Hearing the wrong ones
Ones I didn’t need
Ones I once believed 

Looking out the wrong window 
So I closed the curtains 
It’s something I have to work towards
So I can see another morning 
Some of us go through
If we don’t, we’ll die early 

I played make believe 
The things they don’t teach 
Somehow make you older 
I believe life’s a circle 
What makes it beautiful is not knowing 

Not always a pureness
You don’t always have to know 
Which words come next 
In your story, and I’ll believe it 

Because

Some of us don’t understand the purpose 
Some of us think thoughts not in print, but cursive 
It’s hard to comprehend, your story
When you read you’re worthless 
Never being able to see 
Never believing you’re worth it 

Holding onto all the words that hurt you 
Hearing the wrong ones
Ones I didn’t need
Ones I once believed 

Looking out the wrong window 
So I closed the curtains 
It’s something I have to work towards
So I can see another morning 
Some of us go through
If we don’t, we’ll die early 

If feelings were words inked on our bodies
I think we’d help the ones we saw suffering 
If we were pages of a book, and could 
Place somebody with what they’ve written 
We’d offer ourselves to them, in a way 
Maybe a little different 

If feelings were words inked on our bodies
I think we’d help the ones we saw suffering 
If we were pages of a book, and could 
Place somebody with what they’ve written 
We’d offer ourselves to them, in a way 
Maybe a little different 
© Erika Poling 2020