all open their eyes to fear
seeing nothing but what can't be escaped-
even in a world they paint,
what they create
can't get them out of here-
so we
tell stories
make up lies
make our selves feel better
  maybe in time
  we will find
  something that casts this cage away
  -forever
but until then we
search for truth
but ignore what's waiting
down at the bottom of the stairs
  they say
  don't stare
  don't focus too hard
  or you will find that your fate
  isn't
   going
    anywhere-

even all things
formed and hardened
subject themselves to change
and to be changed
for what is
cannot refuse the weathering-
deciding to stay the same
letting the same form remain.

yet they will try
to mask the craters
in their complexion-
some will die
before admitting
some roots have severed connections-
for none like to look back
and see that
what has past
is true;
for admitting all the past acts
or the rough patch
can mean some pain lasts
in their view-

but we are all bruised and cracked deep in our bones
with lasting acts that won’t leave us alone
we were made to break at some point in time
but that doesn’t mean that pain controls our lives-
and even when change leaves us in the dark
and we miss home so much with it’s warming heart,
there is a light shining it’s brilliant warmth
and if we just trust, I know that we can still have life in our storms.

to ache is an art.

an art that the human soul is deprived of.

an art that everyone;
                    from toddlers
                             to corporate *******
                             must appreciate.

maybe it requires abrasions,
                                    gunshots
         ­                               or mockery from
                                some ****'s mouth

but the glory
of the slow-burn realization
                     that we're ******
is the wake-up call
                     that everyone must hear.

and we're stupid enough to understand
that aching
              is like drowning
                          in experience.

and drowning
        is preferable in deep wounds
            than in the shallow waters
                     of a rushed healing.


and it's saddening
cause
as the youth's yearning
           for the morphine that
                 'self-care' offers

the more we forget to ache.