Monday, June 06, 2016

Getting Through It

It is all relative,
The pressures on one's life,
Expectations, demands, disappointments,
They all cut like a knife,

And just like a cut, you must tend to them,
'Th'wise, they will just fester,
Your body is made to heal all its wounds,
And of those of the mind I'm no less sure,

Perspective is the first balm to apply,
You're not the first or last,
Of the people you'll never hear of,
Who've been cut in the past,
Then keep it safe,
No one need know it's there,
Most of the time it's the last one standing,
Who has managed to put on the best airs.

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