In a family tree of apples yet to rippen, I've matured to reality and marked my place at the bottom, above the roots. And if apples could dig, I'd get aquanted to where I came from, see if we stem from six feet under. High up, they all are claiming their knowledge is vast, that I've sunk to the bottom alone. But did I have a painful fall, or did I just ripen? Am I arrogant or miserable for lack of better terms to be on some terms nobody agrees with? But then again, when was there an agreement besides a bar set high that I've deserted simply because the truth is ready and hungry for a bite of my ripeness? I drip red like a crying wound with every bite the truth tells me and to the ones still hanging from the tree, truth is "forbidden." Shame, do you know what it means to be ashamed? I have no idea what the feeling is like. I'd be ashamed of not maturing, hanging still at an old age to the tree of life as though forty, fifty, or sixty years weren't enough to dissolve the illusion set forth by rigorously chasing "what's right." I begin at the end to show you a version of me everybody dislikes. Here is the outcome, thus far. Better than the start, yet far from the end. Lacking, still, to both sides. What can I do? Who can I please, as though I'm begging? Hard to say like chocking on the truth. Little of me appeals to picky eyes that knit-pick me like a sweater. Written are messages and letters with no love, yet heartfelt. I touched many hearts and left my prints on none, but if I did it was intentional, and if I did- I also left a trace. Clear enough for the ones who know, still there for the ones who need to follow. It'll be a while before I dial or call certain names again with the same eagerness for a reply. If I'm in the wrong after many efforts to remain in the right can you blame fate for having a different plan? Is it true some just have to pay with sorrow? Do you know my mother prays I don't see tomorrow? Do you know I do as well? Who will understand me when I'm way in over my head. I mourn at night often, in the dark and rare in the light. That is when my shame comes out.
