Denial

Denial of a problem is more painful than facing it.
Away, and away, you push it,
All the while, it lingers over your head,
Just behind you, as a dark cloud, watching you, poking your head,
Poking your heart, with a stick,
A cruel trick,
Making you feel sick
As it tries to come down, engulf, and smother you,
But for what feels like an eternity, you
Keep pushing it back, until you finally do forget about it,
And life seems fine.
But life never goes in a straight line....
 
Then all of a sudden, it says "Hey!"
It could be in the middle of the day
In the middle of an activity,
Or in the middle of trying to fall asleep, which is usless anyway.
Your brain suddenly pops the problem back into your head,
It weighs on you, reminding you of what, to yourself, you have said,
Why does it do this?
As quickly as is mentally possible after it does this,
You push it away,
And forget about it for maybe a day,
Then one night, whilst browsing the internet, unable to sleep,
The problem makes a peep,
You hear a song that makes you think of it again,
And you try to hold back the tears, you will not cry again,
But then as the song plays, you see an image,
That reminds you of your heart and mind's skirmish,
Maybe a quote, that resonates with your problem
And your pushed away feelings about said problem,
And you lose your composure,
Your heart's torture,
And silently weep, the only sound coming from you being your rapid exhales as tears stream onto your pillow,
An overflow of sorrow.
 
Why do I feel so strongly for each crush,
And turn myself to emotional mush,
Being my own monster,
Because I want each one to be my first and only spiritual/psychic/mental/emotional/physical partner,
My first everything, and I want children with them?
I have written such passionate, tender, sappy, love-filled personal fan fictions about me and them,
And yet I know that I can't have all of them as my one and only, and first everything,
I can't have all, yet have only one, a painful understanding.
In fact, I can't even be with almost all or all of them, because they are long dead,
Are with someone else, or are fictional characters from things I have seen or read.
Each scenario I write, I love them more than anyone else,
And I am not the kind of person to be with multiple partners,
Or cheat on them with anyone else,
I can't love more than one
More than anyone,
That is not possible.
It can't work,
It doesn't work.
It kills me inside, to see families unfold with these characters/people in text,
But not ever in reality, it leaves me vexed,
Leaves me perplexed.
Is this something all people go through, but learn at a younger age?
Or is this a curse of knowledge's privilege?
Something us few, deal with when looking retrospectively,
By the hand life has dealt us, harshly?