We Waste Hope on Hopeless Things
“A man has always wanted to lay me down, but he never wanted to pick me up.” — Eartha Kitt
We waste hope on hopeless things. Like a man being able to save a woman like me.
Like when you’re adrift in an Ocean of misery, and your lungs are flooded with waves after endless waves of grief with every, single, breath you take — until drowning becomes your only reality. A willing man, starts to look like a life raft to a woman like me.
We waste hope on hopeless things. Like a man being able to save a woman like me.
So in desperate need of a glimmer of hope, you clung to that raft like he was a lighthouse guiding you home. You let him bring you back to lifes shores, lay you down and give you mouth to mouth until the icebox around your heart began to melt — and you could feel your heart beating once more.
We waste hope on hopeless things. Like a man being able to save a woman like me.
So you spent hour’s and days and weeks and nights, wrapped up in something in his eyes, spilling drunken confessions from your guts, telling him you just needed a touch of love, not seeing that he was oblivious — as he gazed from your breasts down to between your thighs, speaking of wild thoughts running all through his mind.
We waste hope on hopeless things. Like a man being able to save a woman like me.
Still, you loved and loved and loved some more, you felt alive like never before. You found yourself building foundations out of sand, trying to make a home out of a willing man. That should have been the first red flag, people aren’t home’s — but you already knew that. So you built and built and built alone, turned around — and found him gone. Salt water on your tongue and in your eyes, knee deep at the mercy of the Oceans tide.
We waste hope on hopeless things. Like a man being able to save a woman like me.
Now you watch the sun set, forget the things you should regret. Pin your hopes on new beginnings in the morning, a different you — another way, pick your battles and come what may, your tired bones don’t let you down, you set fires to memories and build from the ash, letting go of somebody that you used to know, you close the door — you’re already home.
We wasted hope on hopeless things. A man can’t save a woman like me.
