Éponine

If I were any kind of man, I'd attack a punching bag and sweat my frustrations away. Me being me, I shall, instead, compose a poem.

Éponine

I don't quite know for sure,
If I want you
To be part of my world anymore
than you want to.

My story has not grown.
Pathetic as it is,
It is yet my own.

I don't suppose I ever did try
For myself before,
Deafening is that deadening cry
Of "One day more."

Waiting, like a fool,
Waiting, on my own,
For a crust to be thrown,
Waiting, as before
For one day more.

Look at me,
I'm not a blur,
I did not want
Your money, sir,
Just for you,
For once to see,
What I can be,
What I can be...


Today, I shall live for me.
I shan't see signs in star or tree.

Today, I shall live for me.
Living for you is quite the chore.
One day more.
Oh, one day more...


No more shall I
hover phantom o'er the Seine,
No more singing verses,
At least none of stinging pain.

I love you
But what becomes of this monster?
This 'me' who has never wanted more...
I know that there is no real answer,
Everything will stay as it did before.

I love you,
But I have to believe in tomorrow,
A tomorrow where I can live for me,
Tomorrow,
Yes, tomorrow you shall see,
I'll live
For me,
For me, evermore.

Today, though.
Today I shall wait,
Just today
For one day more.