I ask myself that question daily and then categorize my answers on mental index cards, tucked away in recess of my soul – out of sight – providing the only protective place i have to heal who i am, if i am, among the cinders of my intellect and one very damaged psyche, still.
I’m not here as an end product of complacency or some scratch and win ticket exclaiming “sorry
While writing this, I was listening to "If I Could" by Erasure
next time”. I’m not here in this well lit dark space i fashionably think is some how my life due, to any inaction on my part or lack of self worth – that is by far to simple a theory or conclusion for the outsider to cast --
inappropriate sticks and stones such as they are
–i was made to be here. I was forced to be here. Put here by patronizing actions and empty words of help. Put here to till the quicksilver landscape with no tools but hands i can not feel and legs that wish only to leave their painful existence. Dropped here by a man with more faces than sense. I should not be here.
I believed. I held faith that against the mounting odds and attacks of more formidable beasts than i am acquainted – i would not be made to loose – everything – me --- to this wrong, this evil. That somehow or someway a thunderous roar of anger and support would roll across the silence and say
….but the sun is setting now, and i hear no roar.
no chorus either.
No comments:
Post a Comment