Poetry's an easy place to get lost in for platinum words and salty pages often heal hearts that have been gelled with plasma for too long, rubbed unabashed with silt and stones, sewed with fibers made of fool's gold,
They say the bravest hearts have endured the worst pain,
but I say the bravest hearts are those who forgive the worst pain
because the mercy found in the toxic lairs of Satan is often the same numeral as in the toxic lairs of humans.
We don't know kindness.
I say poetry's the best place to get lost in. Because letters and dots piece your heart back better than ashes from the carcass of a bony man-eater, kindness needs to be nurtured first, like a plant that grows from the sun.
But I must be foolish enough to assume poetry is kind to us, our hearts are fragile and have little to no space for an abstract emotion like kindness, and maybe you'd be squinting at my letters and thinking of how atrocious it seems to breed kindness from a poem.
But as I said, we, humans do not know kindness. It's glaringly clear, in the way we're unfair to ourselves, and beat up our minds if they decide to go astray. The way we don't forgive our own hearts for crying out for help, and the way we create angry Art to watch our poetic sides suffer. And I think that's why we misuse mercy, because being kind to ourselves is what we always forget to do, and forgiveness is something that we never consider to gift.
In hindsight, that's what's broken in the world, we, humans ourselves, creatures that haven't learned to forgive themselves first, setting out to contain chaos, and that's really the greatest pain in the world.
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