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My Cliché

cli·ché [klee sháy]
1. overused expression: a phrase or word that has lost its original effectiveness or power from overuse
2. overused idea: an overused activity or notion

In response to the multitude of clichés used by all the writers of today: Have no shame in the overuse of certain phrases or ideas, for it's those familiar words that prove we're all the same. It's they that prove we all live, breathe, love, bleed, and feel. It's great to be unique, but I've found that it's the beauty of our commonalities that has so unfortunately lost its place in the world today. I dedicate this write to its rebirth.

My Cliché

I cried a storm of tears
I cried in skies of grey
Such a damn cliché,
but I cried them anyway

I drowned in lonely times
till I could breathe no more
It's just a metaphor,
but it hurt me all the same

My broken heart has died
but I thought as I survived;
to feel the pain I've felt,
you've gotta be alive

But I've heard my story cry
It's cried a million times
I'll never pretend
that it's me and only me

Blinded by a love
but guided by my mind
I tried to show her what
she's never tried to see

I tried to say in my own way
that's it's been this way before
The story's ended just like this
so many times or more

I cried to her
like the wind upon the shore;
all while it
occurred to me
that it's been this way before

But she heard no cries
and in her eyes,
it's me she's never seen
But who was she to say
the way that I should dream?

Who was she to say
the way that I should feel?
Who was she to be
the only thing that's real?

I'm sick of rhyming sorrow
with all of my tomorrow
I'm sick of rhyming pain
with the only thing I've got

I'm sick of having scars
healed by all my sorrow
I'm sick of having dreams
that are better off forgot

And still it's her
the only one
I know I'll never blame,
as every heart upon the earth
will always feel the same

It's all the words
and only them
Still it's them you must forgive
I wish I'd written differently
and had a different life to live

But a metaphor has killed me
Cliché to be my death
as I ask to be forgiven
with a relic of a breath

I say to her disheartened
with the heart that I have left,
"It wasn't my desire
to die like all the rest."