poison tears

Objects hold memories.
I can pick up a cloth and remember things.
No matter how much I love it, and want to keep it,
the memories haunt me still.

I can look at it all day, just laying there
and not think anything of it.
But, my fingers brush the surface,
and like an energy, it seizes my mind
and i am forced to re-live and to re-feel.

Why don't I just throw them all away?
My house would probably then be bare.
Empty home, empty heart
and then the white walls would remind me still.

Poison tears run my face
both of love and of hate.
I want them there,
and yet I despise them here.

pecking orders

Why is it that people have to feel that unless they are on top, they aren't important?
Why is it that a pecking-order has to be established?

That kind of pyramid is only created by those who feel they must be on top, in order to be anyone of significance.
I promise it wasn't the ones on the bottom who came up with the idea to stack the entire human race upon their shoulders.

Why must adults be bullies like we had back in school?
Haven't we grown up yet?

Why can't people be satisfied with themselves?
And if they aren't, then why can't they just face the fact and work on it to improve?
Why is it that the act of polishing yourself is so daunting to them, that they'd rather just muddy up everyone else around them, to make them "look" like they're shiny?

Why can't the human kind be a little more evolved than birds or fish,
who constantly fight among themselves to see who will be the "king" of their numbers.

Why must we lose our glory like feathers?

exposed

They say truth hurts.
They say it is like a dagger that pierces your soul
and rots you from the inside out.

Perhaps that is why I mask my frustrations and keep my blades sheathed.
When someone has offended me, instead of striking, I hold my tongue.
For years I have practiced this art, and i have kept my mouth shut.
After all, it is preached as the better way to live, is it not?

But you know what? There was a flaw to this plan.
The sword of truth demands blood.
It doesn't really care where it comes from, as long as it gets to taste of it.
So, in keeping the edge from striking those who offend me,
I've allowed it to dig deeper and deeper into my own chest
festering a wound that won't heal now,
because the blade is still within it.

Every day it presses a little deeper, and I am dying from the inside.
But, in order to take it out, the blood will splatter somewhere.
So, once again, to keep those around me clean from it's stain, I have created a channel for it.

This.

Perhaps in another few years Iwill see that this still isn't the right path.
Until then, this blog will not be for the feint of heart.

Here, I will speak truth.
To what good? I'm not sure.

I welcome any of you who are also suffering.
Eventually, I pray this wound to heal.