And so it goes.

The addiction to the pain

Of loving the wrong one over and over again.

Different from last time? No he’s just the same.

Controlling manipulate with a different name.

This one is cunning; he makes you his game.

But then you know that.

Never occurring to ask those who care

To say something before hindsight is 20/20.

Only we need to hear them this time.

But we choose to believe that the pain

Of our perception

Born from a past rejection

Is greater than we can bear.

Maybe this time I’ll win.

So we stay there.

Continuing to rehearse the Diary of a Mad Black Woman

Instead of making its climax our reality.

Fearing that happy is too good for us,

Conditioned to believe that nice won’t last,

We persist in sifting through the mire

Created by our self perceptions.

Deluding ourselves into believing that

By drinking from a broken glass

We at least know where the sharp edges are.