What Was Left Unsaid

A conversation going nowhere.
Awkward moments of silence,
as questions form with each deep breath.

Every word woven together by the unspoken
truth: why her and not me?

You see, no one hears this side of the story.
The side where pride is banished and shame
reigns supreme.

The victim versus the villain.
Only who is the real villain?

It’s never him.
No he has an excuse for every
acqusation.

“It was a moment of weakness,”
or, “I was drunk.”
No responsibility taken.
Crown given back to the prince.

God forbid if the villain is ever her.
Even though she ignores him.
She treats him like a stray dog
that only comes around for his scraps.

No, I am the villain.
The one who listens to his complaints.
The one who comforts him in his distress.
The only one who finally understands him.

I fall for his touch and fleeting whispers
that I am the one.
Yet, I’m the villain?

I am the one who has to pick up what
little dignity is left from his moment of weakness.
I am the one staring into those deadpan
eyes behind my mascara stained tears.

He asks, Can you leave please?
as if I am the problem,
when before I was the solution.

How can I make any sense out of this
messed up situation?
How do I even begin to comprehend
what love is when I am shattering it
with my touch?

No one wants to hear this side of story.
So once again I fall away
as she walks back in to claim her prize.
Their love is stronger than ever,
while I remain the girl on the side.