Sometimes, I see too much.

Know too much.

And it's painful.

 

The untrained eye sees just space,

But I see the wall.

People try to be kind,

But I see how strained the words are, and how scarcely they fall.

And I try to ignore it.

 

I can tell the difference between conversations of friendlieness and those that are merely polite,

I know when someone is just trying to be kind- and I appreciate it, but there is still a kind of bite.

And it's hard.

 

And I see other things.

 

The pain, the shame, that other people carry,

The eyes that never smile,

Even when the mouth insists that the holder is quite merry.

I try not to get too involved.

 

I see the insecurities, the stress and desperation,

I see the heartbrokeness that comes from seperation,

I worry, worry.

 

To look, to know, to realize,

But not know what to do,

I want to protect all those I care for,

Even though I know it it's impossible to.

To look, to know, to realize,

That I'm not wanted, that I don't fit in,

To want to be understood, but know I'm fighting for something I will never win.

 

I think it's a curse, to be able to find that which people try to hide.

Sometimes I think perhaps I would rather be blind.