I love you to the moon and back, yet on earth, I hate you back and forth.
I am happy with a suppressed sense of agony. So ecstatically vibrant, yet miserably tormented.
I live day to day, walking and “maturing”, yet move no further than beyond the grave of a past, long dead and gone.
I’m awake, don’t you see?
When I wake, I open my eyes in a helpless sleep. Outside my tiny being, I see nothing but me.
I call myself a mother, or a father, but never gave birth to a daughter.
We call ourselves a “family”, but exist so disconnected — wavering and dislodged, apart and separated. Smiling resentfully, painfully, excruciatingly.
All for the cameras of course.
I am respectful — to be respected! I shower in lies, and cover you too, so I need not see any offensive residue.
I am a strong person, cowering and contracted to the slightest sight of error.
I’m brave, don’t you see? A plastic rock, standing impervious to the sea.
I love you, I love you, I love you. But I don’t see you, nor hear you, don’t know you.
I understand you, of course, “I understand everything!!!!” But I don’t see you, nor hear you, don’t know you.
I know you, I know you, I know you. Yet I don’t see you, nor hear you, don’t know you.
You’re crazy, poor child! Why can’t you lie like we do!?
Why can’t you NOT feel like we do!?
Why can’t you NOT see as we do!?
Why can’t you just “forgive” and “accept”? Take it all, all our objects in their entirety and forget the emptiness of your soul. Sacrifice yourself, for you need not forget, we gave it ALL.
Don’t you know yet? This world is OURS to own. A “truth” to be known.
Your perception; a mere fallacy to be shown.
Don’t you know yet?
We stand before an army of validation, against your small speck of reality.
All memory, all harmony, all said and done -- buried beneath.
We are the bringers of truth, the proclaimers of wisdom and sound guidance. And you, our poor child, just a little voice to be silenced.
A lost soul, drifting outside the “right” path.
Reach for our direction.
You’ll travel upon a dusty, well-trodden track, and with feet now imprinted with scars. Rest assured though, for we travelled there too; feet too ***** to bear and too numb to care.
Take our confident hands, our dearest child. We’ll lead you through a clear path with tainted feet.
You’ll fall and we’ll rise in disbelief.
You’ll scream and it’ll only echo our fears.
...But Really About You.