May we raise our sons and daughters to only speak words that they feel within. Too often life is perceived as a series of actions in a drama and so people ignore the fact that those around them are human, not paid actors. May my daughter grow up in a world where she feels free to speak or write her truths without fear of being perceived as less than. May all around her recognize her awareness of life and respect her humanity. May my son learn the importance of listening in a society where all men do is speak. Where too many men speak incalculable volumes at decibels loud enough for rock concerts, may my son grow to also listen and speak when he finds something truly worth saying. May our children reflect upon their actions and lead lives of consideration for those surrounding them so that perhaps one day hearts will mend, and souls will fill to the brim with happiness.
Do you really think that a grown woman like me needs someone like you to be “the big man of my life?” My dear, you are sorely mistaken. I was splitting the Earth to pave the road to my progression long before you spewed that smoke through your lips. I was building the pieces of myself much before you were calling yourself a man. You have no idea of the hells that I’ve traveled to get to this point. Don’t forget, this life already taught me to never trust a man.
The truth is that it matters little what it may be; wether there is truth or a lie is of small consequence. Who better than yourself to realize that this world will serve you a cold dish or a warm broth? Remember that you will at least always have something in your kitchen and those who eat from your fine china will feast tonight. Those who do not sit at your table shall never truly dine on your delicacies for an appetizer does not a whole meal make.
She said “fuck it” none of it is worth it
This feeling of insufficiency in you and you and them
She said “sleep it off”
Addictions are better left
To be treated in the bright mornings
When the candor of the sun sings its light
Into your eyes, enkindling your vision
With flames of truths that have been burning around your body.
You will always know what’s true and what’s transient. Your heart will tell you. So choose the memories you make wisely lest you’d like to indulge sadness.
I wonder if you spoke to the stars in the black sky, would they listen? If I were to confess all of the things welling up inside my chest if that would make a difference—maybe I’d tell them all of my secrets. The night sky blankets your eyes and your ears, yet you still see the flickering candles way up high and can hone into the nocturnal birdsong. Crickets are like a drum line, playing their repetitive beats only to be disturbed by the loud sounds of music of people who celebrate everything that there is to celebrate in life. I say I’m as black as my shirt, as black as the outside corridors and the broken concrete fences waiting repair. I am like my house, an unfinished product, a byproduct of cortisol and dopamine. Perhaps this is what melancholy feels like. The body still tunes in to pleasure, but the brain doesn’t ignite the same ways it used to. So this brings me back to the night sky… Why tell it anything if it’s too far away to hear me? Maybe it’s better to gently place this weight on the soaked grass and perhaps it will provide my resuscitating roses with adequate nutrition.
What you know so far is limited, but one day you’ll know a lot more.