I stride around the bush,
beating it despite what I’ve been told,
wondering will it spite me,
vice-like will it take hold?
There’s no magic in avoiding
this method won’t become
the wisest choice,
I must take the bull by its horns,
I should not feel compromised.
Oh, how these troubles only came
when I put pen to paper,
I was a fool
such words were fit for others.
the untoward screams,
am I unworthy of clemency?
But I have changed for the better,
I shan’t beat around the bush,
only reveal now what’s relevant,
not tired, unwholesome truths.
No longer to wallow in the
quagmire of self-regret,
the outspoken words
still plain to see if at discovery
most pages are firmly closed,
no longer open books,
I’ll only reveal certain facts
if it’s necessary for you to peruse.
But, I’ve moved on long ago,
it’s for the best,
because I say so,
I’m sure you’ll all agree
no one needs to revolt that way,
haphazard, spiteful words to then fro.
Thousands upon thousands of words,
up and away,
they shall be thrown,
and I’ll hold no ounce of bitterness or dismay,
because some history does not need to be known.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Susanne Jutzeler, suju-foto from Pixabay
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