The Times I've Left

The Times I’ve Left

The first time that I left her

it was not by choice.

I had to leave.

There was a war. I had no voice.

The first time that I left her

I just bit my tongue.

I did not know what I was doing.

I was very young.

The first time that I left her

I was scared.

I was a boy.

I was naïve.

I didn’t care.

The first time that I left her

wasn’t fair.

The second time I left her

it was understood.

We knew it wasn’t permanent,

though it was good.

The second time I left her

I prepared her first.

We were both in different places.

We were blessed and cursed.

The second time I left her

I think made it worse.

It filled me with a yearning;

with a sort of thirst.

The second time I left her

really hurt.

The last time that I left her

I was forced again.

Didn’t want to leave, believe me,

fate forced my hand.

The last time that I left her

the depression hit.

I would cry about it

and still wouldn’t mention it.

The last time that I left her

dug a hole in me.

It’s like this wicked curse

has all of this control on me.

But the last time that I left,

I left her soul in me.

All the times I’ve left her,

I left wanting more.

And every time I’ve returned

to an open door.

I’ll never really leave her,

she’s inside of me.

The more I know her,

the more she instills pride in me.

The journey has been bittersweet.

The journey made me Me.

Without my Nicaragua,

I don’t know who I’d be.