Chronicler of Sad Things

I am the chronicler of sad things
I listen as I hear the story about how she never felt pretty
She hid behind a fake smile but felt empty
A boy told her the things she needed to hear
Made her feel how she longed to feel
But he was still a boy
And could not be a man when she needed one

I am the chronicler of sad things
I watch as children feel they aren’t good enough
Aren’t smart enough
Aren’t funny enough
Who feel they can’t contribute
They defend against word forged weapons are sent to kill, maim, and destroy
For no other reason than the wielder feels just as empty
Parents tell their children they are mistakes
Outcasts
Wastes of potential
And their eyes cannot look up past the floor

I am the chronicler of sad things
I feel the need of desperation for someone
Anyone
To step in and pick them up
All they search for is someone to believe in them
See and hear them
Someone to tell them they can
Someone to make them feel beautiful
Not just how they look, but to feel beautiful
To see the worth in themselves they can only get from outside
They want to be happy

But still
I am the chronicler of sad things
I listen
I watch
I feel
I hope that they listen to me, but…
I fear all I can do is record and observe
I am not the one who they are listening for
My words fall on hardened hearts
Who look to the ones who failed them