June 2010
By Taylor Springs
A stretchy, shaky, silver lining
Doesn’t really count
If it’s unsure, perhaps unreal
It can’t be a place to look up
In times of sadness
If it’s only a delicate, pretending lie
A gloomy glimpse of gentleness
Is hardly self control
Hand it to me straight-up
If it’s not going to get better
So we can erase the silver lining
And continue with the weather
Author's Notes/Comments:
This is a universal feeling but I wrote this one specifically about when I was in foster care at age 12 and they kept telling me I would go home, "next week" when they knew damn well it would be a month, and didn't tell me. They thought they were doing me a favor, by telling me what I wanted to hear, when the truth was that I wouldn't have been satisfied with anything and I only fell harder when the day I had counted to came and went. I'd rather have been told the truth, so I could have counted down the days accurately. I put my heart on the line of every word they said and they let me down.
