When I Was Nice

I used to be a nice person
Said, “Hi,” to everyone I saw
Few people ever said it back
But that’s not why I’m raw.
Yes, I used to be nice
Always willing to open a door,
Not many returned the favor,
But that’s not why I’m sore.
Opening doors and sharing greetings used to
be what I do
Used to be what I do was reveal my heart so
true
Opening doors and exchanging greetings
To yesterday and back slaving at
creating meetings
Meetings that never happened, then it did
happen
In hopes that it would be happy,
Happy and sappy just the same
So I opened the door and held it open
Yet it was only I who walked in
I held it open so long my being became
wounded
But I held it open waiting for someone else
to walk in
Waiting for one person to run in
Or at least
Crawl in
To the door that was
Open
One person did crawl in
Then backed out and left the door open
For someone else
But the door wasn’t an entryway for
The masses
Perhaps I was wearing tinted glasses
Since I never saw anyone enter at all
In the door that began to grow small.
So small that one would have to crawl to
get in
That is
If the door is still open.
I used to be a nice person
Smiled at everyone I saw
Few people ever smiled back,
But that’s not why I’m raw
Yes, I used to be a wonderful person
Spreading love was never a chore
Yet love never seemed to reach me
Still, that’s not why I’m sore.
I held the door open in hopes that
one person would see it and graciously walk in
He began to walk in, then crawled his way out
Leaving me holding the door, as well as his doubt.
My arms are tired from holding onto the door
Tiredness spread through my body and made
My whole being sore.