#082018

nobody says my name tenderly every letter is filled with poison and i grow tired from not sleeping or from sleeping too much

i am sick of being the thing that went out of fashion in a minute of everybody wanting me a second here and then completely gone

eyes that burn this part always hurts and they do nothing but scream at me

"silence what you think" "bottle what you feel" when are you going to learn?

and all i am given is a broken suitcase to put all my wounds inside

and my hands always tremble as i shove in my temper where it won't be a burden anymore

i am sick of watching how the suitcase keeps cracking everything inside just spills outside denied debts my numbers are all red but i keep forgetting what i am deserving of

(nothing)

i feel that one day they will all come to ask me why i am not gone

i can hear them carrying the broken suitcase turned into a coffin

they'll shove me inside and sew up my mouth

i will breathe every hour in mumbled hollow

while they sing "this end is the best"

There are the rules of dervishes and the rule of conquerors.

And then there are rules for those who seek knowledge.

Tangled up in figuring out where these lines lie, I have managed to divide myself in pieces.

So many portions that even I cannot make sense of what belongs where.

So I take the role of the questioner.

And somehow figure out a way to make a cohesive whole out of these parts.

It has become increasingly clear to me that the path that I choose must be my own.

The ones that already exist, have been walked upon so many times that the direction no longer makes sense to me.

There are ways that tell me to live every moment so that I control everything. And there are ways that tell me to let life take its course.

And while I might understand and respect and even like both, I can only choose one.