Train tracks lay here
On the distant traveler,
That I call myself,
And footsteps, cars, and boulders,
Too, mark their imprints
Harshly on my body.
Some walk, some stomp,
Some drop weights
In their shoes,
And here they go again,
As the cycle continues.
I am the one
They label as the nice girl.
I am the one everyone
So readily loves,
As they clamp more
Tacks in the order
Of things, of realities,
Of aspirations,
That come with the bruteness
And sometimes sweetness
That come from my cycle.
Engulfed in a mood
That makes your sky gray?
I am the nice girl
Who listens to your tears,
Angry words, accusations,
Lament.
I am the nice girl
Who entertains for a smile.
And you cherish
The magic,
That you take for granted.
I am the nice girl,
Who cares, who loves,
Who listens,
Who gives,
Too much,
Too quickly,
TOO NICE!
And they cherish
The magic
They can never
Understand.
Pardon me,
Now as I sit at the cycle,
Pardon me,
For caring a wit.
About you or them
Or even the neighbor.
Pardon me,
For believing in magic
That lays in our hearts.
Pardon me,
As you step on my spane
Of long railroad tracks
You placed on my back
With my permission.
Pardon me
For being nice.
I see my great sin.
Pardon me
For being myself,
Being the nice one,
The one I created.
Pardon. Excuse.
Reprimand.
Whatever you call it.
Whatever you please.
It’s all I’ve ever
Known, all that I ever held,
And all that belongs
Strictly to me,
Not you.
Stomp on,
Jump on,
Leave footprints
On my back.
I am the nice girl,
That’s all I’ve ever been
Pardon. Excuse.
But that is all
That I ever wanted to be.
Yes, this me.
Here I am now,
Still daring to care.
Always.
So pardon. Excuse.
Whatever you call it.
Whatever you please.
Copyright 1995 Wendy Torres