people always say to have faith

how is one supposed to have faith
when they are inconspicuous to themselves?

people always say that time heals everything

how is one supposed to believe
that a plastic circular object is supposed to fill the holes in their heart?

people always say to stay calm

how is one supposed to stay calm
with thoughts scraping their internal skin surrounding their skull?

This world is all about believe what you want to believe.
Follow what you want to follow, even if it doesn't correspond with all beliefs, go for what might give you some satisfaction that you are an 'okay' human being.

not only does cancer cause the immune system to whither
but the soul to float about the clouds
in search for ambition
to discover a better life,
or a better place to be.

not only does illness cause bones to shatter
but hearts to reach their last beats
surrendering blood
for a manageable death
or better type of sleep.

not only does a person cause hearts to break
but lives to cease  
and minds to be manipulated
for stabbing memories
or uncovered scars

how is one supposed
to aver their thoughts and emotions
with nowhere to pour their words
and nowhere to place their heart for safe keeping?

one has tried locking their heart inside of a chest
where forests of anxiety filled skies and thorny vines await predators eyeing the treasure: a pulsing heart, torn in two, clinching onto the safety of benevolence.

but somehow, the heart is always gaining scars...
scars that have stories,
stories intangible of the human mind to even comprehend.

when flooding season arrives,
those feelings
those emotions
float up stream and settle onto the banks
where a human sits,
eyes overflowing with the truth of life: nothing can be hidden from our world,
from ourselves.

boiling drops of water stream down my back
as I stand with my head held low
and my heart held high.

my fragile tears
put on mute
due to the lines of water
pouring out the shower head
onto my tattered, pink flesh.

arms clasped around your knees
while your eyes overflow with dysphoria
and spilling those things called tears.

you begin to wonder when the walls started to tower over you
while kept under those warm things called blankets,
the only things that kept you warm
while your heart was frozen in time that had elapsed

these towering walls
seem to be looking down upon me
and they tell me I am enervated
as I am limp under those blankets,
the only things that are competent to providing me warmth,
as my heart cannot.

you used your mother as our scapegoat
& when you finally crashed down onto the cold, gray pavement of reality, you realized you never actually loved me