This swamp I’m treading through is because I can’t stop being angry, I can’t stop from saying, “if only” I can’t find forgiveness. I can’t let go. Forever blaming my past, I’m destined to drown in it.
The anger is mine, I own it and I earned it. but it’s burning my tongue and scorching my eyes, leaving me with charred hands and black feet. What I touch, what I taste, what I see, what I feel-all covered in soot.
I don’t want to be this way.
I can move to a hundred different cities and meet a hundred new people, but it won’t solve my puzzles, close any doors or heal the wounds. I will run to escape my unhappiness, but you know the story. I’m too slow and it always catches me.
These words of mine, boy are they stale and brittle; you poor tired, overworked little words. All these years, all this time, all my adventures. Yet still, the same words, the same anger, the same blame. Some things never change.
It is because I can’t let go.
I hoard. Of course you know. Even what I don’t want, what I’ve forgotten, what I should forget. I won’t let any of it go.
It’s lucky with me. I never remember. Except for when I do.
So many memories leaked away, lost; too many memories refusing to go. With me, there is so much uncertainty, so many questions, so much unknown.
I never remember, except for when I do. No superheroes then.
I wrote all this down in my notebook. But private journals aren’t enough anymore. I’m a junkie; I need more, stronger and better, faster and higher.
What is wrong with me that I have this raging need to spread open my metaphorical legs and show the world my secrets? What exactly am I searching for? Validation? Understanding? Sympathy? Disgust? Or maybe I am just that self-involved and narcissistic.
either way, we are all covered in ash. So now what?
- ahhh, love.
- how the media is like bad nutrition