I just received some new batteries to kick-start my heart, I’m not writing for flatteries because it’s actually a tragedy—that I’ve been living like I’m dead.
I’ve been given a sedative but it’s time for me to let live; let it ride; before I die:
Proceed with caution, because what I’ve got inside is a terrifyingly beautiful ride.
It’s a little unusual, a spiritual tide, a rituals original,
and now the only that’s pitiful is when I sleep at night,
leaving a table full of things I coulda done,
things I shoulda said, love I could’ve expressed,
but that was then, this is now.
I’m not dead, I’M NOT DEAD.
I’m done not speaking my mind, I’m done being left behind, instead of looking for time to unwind, I’ve got to be kind and rewind my life like a video; tape:
off the crime scene;
Uh-Oh, my anger revealed itself,
and all of its wealth that’s been pent up like a dragon hoarding it’s treasure. It’s but a horrific murder of the man I hate myself to be,
docile and apathetic,
a heretic spewing my own rhetoric when questioned about why I avoid the conflict of being;
anything but comfortable, always safe, never outspoken, always misunderstood.
Blood all around the pain is excruciating, separating a part that’s been bonded since I can remember;
all the trauma and anger that scared me as a child,
insinuating that peace is always just out of reach, and that fear is something to submit to.
But it’s fear that taught me to not rock the boat of which I’ve locked my soul below deck,
smothering it’s feelings and suffocating my urge to implode upon myself, or explode on those who love me.
You see the anger within these hands, it’s not hate, but the rage that’s necessary to kill the stubbornness inside myself that desires comfort instead of a destiny of giving love without fear.
It’s a painful process, but I’m making progress, in becoming who I’m born to be.
Once again, I ask you to bear with me- as I learn to bear my soul.
I must understand that my opinion matters, and with it, I can shape the life of great man. No longer a boy who’s afraid to be, afraid to speak up in fear stirring the waters. Afraid of causing a wave capable of capsizing the ship I’ve built which is ironically named “Relations”; as they are what I fear sinking the most.
I will learn to speak out, and for once maybe I’ll boast, for I know my heart and it’s intentions, and that is something worth a mention.
I need your help to remind me who I am, a living opportunity to express love, not just a hollow porcelain shell of a man living behind these hands.