FrankConnor

Tick Tock,
         Tick Tock.

I'm waiting.
The birds give concerts in the park,
and the wind,
rushing through the trees,
applauds them.



I'm waiting, again.
A large hall, bustling with people,
haphazard lines, snaking all around me.
I have no clue where to go,
but I know I'll have to wait in one of those queue's,
So I do.



A car stinking of leaking oil,
whining from old age and no maintenance,
stands in front of me.
It's nearly 40 degrees celsius,
and there's nothing on the radio.
I'm waiting,
for a change.



A wooden desk, cold to the touch.
Perspiration,
from a mix of anticipation and fear,
can be smelled in the room.
There he comes, throws the papers on my desk.
First page:
name
date
class.
OK, I got this.

"You can't be done yet. You can give in your exam in an hour."
So I do what I usually do.
I'm waiting.



The birds stopped singing,
the sun went down.
A lady is coming to tell me Mom's not coming.
But I don't know that yet,

I'm just waiting.

WAITING

I'm waiting.

it's 2 o'clock in the afternoon.
Class just ended.

She'll be here soon, I said.
And I wasn't worried.

Why should I worry?
We're all late every now and then.
We all wait sometimes,
for someone,
                         or something.

It's 3 o'clock in the afternoon.
A lady comes over, asks me who's picking me up.


She'll be here soon, I said.
And I wasn't worried.

We wait for our food, heating in the microwave.
We wait in the car, 'till the lights go green.
We wait for one another, whenever someone forgot something.
We wait,
                for true love.

It's 4 o'clock in the afternoon,
All the other kids were gone by now.

She'll be here soon, I said.
And I wasn't worried.

We all wait for love.
But how do we know the difference?
How do we know this is true?
By trying,
                 and breaking our heart in the process.

It's 5 o'clock in the afternoon.
A wind struck up, and it's getting cold.

She'll be here soon I said,
And I wasn't worried.

Why is it, there's always someone hurt,
when a relationship is over?
Can't we just say:
"Alright, this isn't it.
Let's start over."
And go back to waiting,
                                           waiting for true love.

It's 6 o'clock in the afternoon.
Nothing to hear but the birds in the park.

She'll be here soon, I said.
And I wasn't worried.

What if it doesn't come?
How can we know it will?
Does it even exist?
I believe it does,
I want to believe it does.
                                            I hope it does.

It's 7 o'clock in the afternoon.
The grass grows damp with evening dew.

She'll be here soon, I said.
And I wasn't worried.

Maybe true love doesn't exist.
Maybe there is no one who will always match you perfectly.
Who will always be there,
who will support you no matter what.
But maybe there is someone who you can forgive,
no matter what,
Maybe there's something between you worth fighting for,
even though it's far from perfect.
Maybe, just maybe,
                                   that's true love.

It's 8 o'clock in the evening.
A lady walks over to me.

She wasn't coming, she said.
And I was worried.

Some people are like Supernova's.

They burn brighter then the rest of us,
Do things we couldn't even imagine,

live on a different plain in the universe.

And their gravity field is so strong,
you get pulled in,
whether you want it or not.

But get too close, and you'll feel the heat,
and get burned.

But what's it like to be the supernova?

How can you keep yourself contained.

Supernova's are often in pain.

They feel the fire as well, they get the burns.

Maybe they send out so much light,
to hide how dark their mind is within.

Dim your lights,
my Supernova,
it's ok to be average.

It's ok to calm down.

It's ok to not know.

You don't have to hide anymore, behind the fire you hold,
because it's hurting you,

and through you, it's hurting me.

I am broken.

Have been, for so long.

Too long.

But every time, I get out my roll of tape,
a set of lies,
false hopes
blindfolds,
so I won't see what's wrong.

I wrap myself with it, this tape, and I go on.

Tell everyone
"I'm Fine."
"I'm OK."
"I can handle it now."

But the tape never holds.

And now it has peeled off again.

And I'm broken.

My father and I,
We didn't get along.

When mother left, we made a silent pact.

I sttay out of your business,
youstay out of mine.
We may share a house, 
and I may be your child,
but you have no clue how to handle me,
and I have no clue how to talk to you.

Until now.

We talk.

We care.

And we finally realise,

that we both have felt so bad, not having any connection to each other,

because really,
we do love eachother

You can only be truly hurt by someone,
if you loved them first.

That counts for relationships, bullying, everything.

I've been bullied quite a bit, but it never hurt me,
until my best friend joined in.

My heart has been broken many times,

and I'll never stop any of those who broke it.

My father has been angry, yelling, screaming, beating, so oten.

Yet I know he loves me, and I love him.

You can only be hurt, if you love first.

And though I know what may follow, I'll never hesitate to take the jump.
For love, is all I have left to live and die for.

Apparently,
I can't be alone.

But I can't handle people either.

So I guess I just can't handle life.

I know what it feels like to be used.

I've been there before.

But just like the last time, even though I know,

I can't help but give you another chance, and another.

Because I love you,
and I know you loved me.

And somewhere,
I'm hoping you still do.

Why is it, that even though the love was true, and undying,

it's still not meant to be?

why is it, even though both still hurt, and both still long,

It will never be?

Why has it been broken?
broken beyond repair,

even though the love is still there.

Why do I read this,
If I've already read it,
and I broke my mind before?

I think I enjoy beinng broken