Rampant Paranoia
Since I was old enough to understand
the concept of love,
I have searched
for the one truth behind it.
The all consuming,
all fulfulling truth
that composes the very fabric
of that which we call love.
That search has been my driving force,
the heart behind my soul,
the muse behind my musings,
my faith when all else was faithless.
I had thought that if love was pure,
it would last forever.
I searched,
offering my entire self,
heart,
mind,
body,
and soul
for that one fatalistic light in the darkness.
I have learned about the opposite sex.
I have lamented their plight
for I thought it paralelled mine.
I was wrong.
For all their glitz and glamour,
for all their shop talk about sensitivity,
poetry,
chemistry,
a Prince Charming on a white stallion,
it’s all for show.
It appears to me that women like to be abused.
Cheated, maligned, mistreated,
beaten, misused and hated.
Leaving guys like me,
the proverbial nice guy
(who finishes last by the way),
to pick up the pieces
and hope for leftover scraps.
I’m tired of being ignored
because I am Mr. Nice Guy.
I’m tired of being overlooked
because I am everybody’s brother.
I’m tired of being passed by
because I’m not the strongest,
bravest,
smartest,
or best looking.
I’m tired of trying to follow an ideal
that nobody else seems to follow.
I’m tired of hearing about “true love”
when nobody really cares.
I’ve searched for that everything,
heart,
mind,
body,
and soul.
And come up empty.