in which blood stains their hands like paint.
mother earth has many children,
and i am one of them.
from my lips flow silken words like rivers,
and my rocky heart does not beat for me
it beats for the world, the concept of life itself.
yet how can i be a manifestation of all that is beautiful
when inside i am a hurricane.
those words, they are not just rivers
they are tsunamis.
for words can be destructive, oh so destructive
and even the creations of man, the walls that he has built
so carefully for himself
still fall with the rest.
they tell me i am problematic,
that i am useless, worthless
yet i do not say anything
for what is there to say
when you are the reason
your parents are still together,
with their stormy eyes and pursed lips,
and insults that run like icy rain down your skin.
one is a fractured sun
another is a dying star
and i am both,
for i am living and dying at the same time,
angels whispering by my head
the world collapsing at my feet.
dear mama,
i'm sorry for not being there
i'm sorry i couldn't be there
for i hadn't realised that your wounds
were just a fresh as mine.
dear papa,
i am sorry for not realising sooner
not realising that you were the real monster this whole time
that you are just like the creatures that live in fairy tales
but in this story, there's no happy ending.
what am i to say?
i am just the stitching that holds two pieces of fraying linen
still staying together after years and years of torment.
yet even i am coming undone
for i am not the only one
with a tsunami-like tongue
and whose words burn like fire.
and this is why every day,
i find the blood on my father's hands,
staining them with an ichor that screams pain and suffering and death
and i see my mother's tears still trickling
down her ivory skin in the same way
i sometimes see the sky crying.
does the earth have pain too?
for it does cry, it cries bitterly for
the misdeeds of humans.
just like my mother.
just like my father.
just like me.
so now i wonder,
what would it be like to be one with the earth,
to have flowers blossom on you instead of scars,
a smile of wonder instead of pain,
eyes that only see the very best things mother nature has to offer
not the very worst things that humans inflict upon themselves.
maybe i will someday
for i am a child of mother earth after all,
and my heart does not beat for me
it beats for the world
and all the hope that is left.
for those whose smiles hide their wounds.
a shitty poem, written on the third of february 2019.
