I don't want to be around any of you.
But, say you love me too.
You have all outgrown me. Trying so hard to keep us together. To keep me together. I do you more harm than good.
I'm stuck. The more I try to have control over my life, the more I plan, and organize, and set routines...the more my life crumbles. If I let go of control, it further becomes dust. I'm in a never-ending battle with myself, for myself, by myself. How could I inflict the blame and take it too?
I don't have a Devil on my left shoulder and an Angel on my right. I am two separate entities trying to take control of one vessel. Wanting the best for myself, thinking I deserve it, but ultimately, subconsciously and consciously, leading myself to my own demise. If I truly am God, my world is hell. And I am the one to blame. I'm sorry for the world I've created. I don't want to believe that something so ugly could have possibly come from me- from my heart. From my mind. My soul?
When did it tarnish? When did I start to believe that all of you are filthy, tar-filled, soulless, malevolent beings?
When did I start to believe that I'm a filthy, tar-filled, soulless, malevolent being?
If what I see in others is a reflection of me, why don't I see any of you as lost? Torn apart, hurt, damned, maddened, damaged, conditioned to believe the world is out to get you, needing love, needing hope, light, comfort, compassion, empathy, a hand to hold, a shoulder to cry on, a heart to listen? When did I lose the ability to be human, to feel humans? When was I casted out of your worlds?
If my light is out there somewhere, please bring me back home. I'm cold, lost. I can see my breath fogging up the mirrors. So much so that I can't see myself in them. I can't see anyone. This isolation is cruel. Why- when did I inflict this upon myself? I fear my hollow shell disintegrating. My chrysalis collapsing.
How many human years is 14 days?
I don't think I could wait any longer.
But if I do,
I could only hope my rebirth is beautiful.
I'll make it up to all of you. I'll make it up to me.
Please hold space in your worlds for me. Please want me.
Please,
Say you love me too.
YOU ARE READING
The World XXI
PoëzieThis collection is born from the quiet hours, where silence weighs heavy, and the shadows cast by memory grow long. Each poem is a fragment of grief, a reflection of loss, and an echo of the fragile beauty that often accompanies sadness. In these wo...
