The Internal Message

I Release With Open Arms

For so long I've wanted the perfect "someone," someone to love me regardless of who I was. 

To look at me and just, know this is my person. 

The love you don't see in movies. 

Love lasting through new past lives. 

Filled with so much truth and connection, not even the gods can tear them apart.

And with that I release - to the strings of the universe

Roots

Being gay is always a struggle it's one of the "roots" to a problem needed to fix a moment of feeling, where the pain resides. Always there but never forgotten. Being the person I am only to feel like an outcast to society, built upon comfortability. As if we don't deserve love like everyone else. Different than no one and everyone.

People weirded out for simply trying to form a connection with a boy. So many layers of trauma built upon foundations never meant to be formed. Truth always there but never loud enough. Always side casted out by simple lies, that hold more more volume than a drop in a endless mind.

To find a love that has no requirements or checklist along the way. To being hurt so many times the counts turn into ticks. I fell in love for the first time. A young love. Only the youth was still growing. Is it love, or is it a craving to be noticed for once? Recognized that I exist, and I am like everyone else. Seeing him every time I work, hurts day by day. Dumb enough to fall more and more with only a small glance my way. 

Building a false story based on confused pieces of the puzzle. Truth always there but stubbornness grips. Finally letting go as I get slapped instead, leaving that place by my own regretful actions. Faced like a mirror formed from the seas of my sorrow. Slowly rippling away with the fertilizing of a new root. 

Forgetting

"A response I can't control with a memory not to old.

To save me from the pain; only I had no say."

A trauma response built towers from my own pain. Forgetting over time all the love and emotions that once drove my tears into a stream. Reality now translated into a fantasy. Now a long lost memory. Cry knowing you loved someone as deep as yourself. Remembering the catacombs of your mind that felt love off a whim. He didn't love me. I've been pushed through this new chapter of life with no reins, with only breadcrumbs of a story that was once whole. Slowly disappearing, with each new present I add to my book of life. 

Spirituality

The start of spirituality, a category with a name so simple only to be interpreted as deeper than death and life itself. A tool used to refine truth of what is or isn't. Cards guided inside ones teacher, from a source unknown to a thousand wounds. Finally I can be seen with pure love and clarity. Knowing the start to heal my uprooted problems will smear like memories and speak back what I want to hear. 

Using the cards at my fingertips, 78 each fragments to form a riddle only the reader holds. Pleading for truth to give me answers, the crazy has been gnawing at. I need to feel like my feelings are valid and reciprocated. A dream far deeper than the feelings I need, want, feel or realize itself. To gain access with the gates of mazes between my head and heart. Always at war with each other, like each has it's own selfish life to live. Needing the cards to hold me back as I struggle more. Done with all the distractions being my coping mechanism to the last cord in roots - forgetting. A quiet that has long been waited to a storm always winning. 

Trying to move on, barely stopped by the person who put the blindfold on in the first place. A breathe of fresh air is only a thought lost in the open but foreseen to what we know. A moment that would finally end the suffering. Finally be free of all the shackles, weighed of years endless to life. I wasn't crazy. I was just lost in the process. Spirituality showing all its cords to be cut and rewritten for what the cure of reality is. Sadly the war wins as trust issues laughs back at me. The roots always digging deeper, than what I really am. I myself can cut with the scissors I carry in my pocket. Right in front of me - but never seen. 

Love

Love. The end result. A dream that can sit back without chasing or running. Home. Comfortable with enough ease as simple as a blink. Eyes stayed open to dilate from a endless stare. Talked to with trickling movements of lips flowing, like a untouched cobweb in our unforeseen house. 

Whispering undertones that not which hidden. The player only to be struck with his own crafted sword. Blocks throughout. The pushing and releasing of pain built up, time itself can not be heard as a small weep in those same sockets we blink to see life pass us by. Layers ready to be opened up and shown with love as the butterfly gets ready to take flight. That unburdened wail seeking it's rightful place in the air. Not to be trusted in a vessel who's inner reflects onto others in a game not won. Love was the truth I've been searching for.