Don't Try [Poetry]

glare at the sun

glare at the sun

august5twenty19

where do all of these stories come from, constellations whispered into most desolate hearts at primal hours, words untangling and embarrassed. that writ of touch laced into shoulderblades and clavicles and the soft skin lain on the tops of hands.

there might be some great divine origin, treacherous waterfalls from which words pour and swim into their shaded lagoons, neighborhoods of joy and betrayal and the feelings of it all. and there might be some other great divine reason for such miscorrections, those t's not getting crossed in the proofreading (or lack thereof). oh so tragic, to be molded by sadistic hands, to be catapulted into a world in which I'm ill-equipped.

they must know what they've done to me. they must have known of the great tragedy that befell me and so many others. how dare you leave me bare and wanting and weak, shoving my bones into each other even though you knew they wouldn't fit. even though things got unjustly swapped in the long run.

blessed the world with creation and death. death of hope, of love, of morality. internal screams rising up my body, deprived of release, having no where to go. if only you'd edited, we're all such goddamn masterpieces, but you grew sharper instruments to cut us up inside.

oh, how it aches. how I've longed. how you've bestowed upon us the most heavenly gifts of divine suffering, how all incorrect you got it. they're going to have to put me back together, you know. terrifying and sterile, the sharp things coming inside from out for once. I'll have to scratch out your mistakes bit by bit until I'm something resembling what I was supposed to be.

all of these stories, because we are jagged and hoped and deceived, those words of sides meshing with other souls, of finding harmony within one's self, they never grow old. stories of one step at a time, chopped up and reassembled into something that was never new.

stories of attaining peace - we have always been divine.