I am the repetition of many stories.
Death,
Heartbreak,
Anxiety,
Mistrust,
Isolation,
Vulnera­ble,
Repetition.
Is it okay to hate myself,
If I'm just like every story that
People hate?
Dreaming too much
With too little accomplishment?
Anticlimactic?
Insensitive?
Destructive?
Rude?
Wa­steful?
Bratty?
Never getting it
Through my thick skull?
I do too many things wrong,
My good will never outweigh my bad.
I trust and love people
More than I should.
More than I trust and love myself.
If you knew who I really was,
Could you see my mask?
Would you hate me for it?

Sorry.
I said too much again.

I might work in construction this summer, and lift heavy things to maintain a one bed apartment payed with labor in what determines your place in society; green paper

I might become a professional cross country runner, and wear my legs out every day to earn a circular carved piece of gold that I'll wear around my neck to feel superior for a few minutes, to feel like I've made an impact, when my own weight can't even make an impact on the concrete I step in with every stride I take, and sweat coming down my face like Pompeii

I might be a druggie to eliminate misery for a number of hours, to crack smiles I don't really feel because the key to my happiness broke in half while trying to open the twelve inch thick steel door in my heart...
So I'm using chemicals to melt away all of the metals in the periodic table that made this door impossible to break down even if I had a positive attitude, and an army throwing grenades at it that won't even leave a scratch on it..

So I'll be sitting next to this door, watching these compounds I took into my helpless body destroy the surroundings that resemble my sadness, and be left alone with an indestructible door, and all that I will want to feel... I wont

I'll become one with numbness, and become a still emotion in a dark place with a big door I will never open...
I'll admire its strength so hopefully my shaky hands can clench, and grow to be as powerful and brave enough to attack as the door defends what I aspire to be..
a human with meaning in showing my teeth and muscles in my face, that are truthfully moving without the help of a substance that deceives my feelings for hours
I might've broken the key, and my fists might be bruised and cracked, but there's no limits to will

But time is digging my grave without me moving a single bone in my body
To be looked back at as a legend that did nothing

I'll be posted on a plaque with my name and spirit in it, on a shaped piece of stone that people will stare at on a sunny day wearing all black while listening to the cries of my mother

"WHY DID HE HAVE TO GO, WHY HIM?"

"WHY GOD, WHY?"

Destiny doesn't exist, neither does coincidence
Time isn't for everyone, but it'll be mine
I won't have to rush to feel "free" from this "freedom" I'm living in
My consciousness will know, when my time is due
So mother, nothing will be your fault
Brother, I don't mind you bashing on me
Sister, I don't get mad when you scream at me for no reason, we all have bad days,
And father, I don't care if you never loved me,
It wont be your fault
Just understand that time gives and takes..
Thats all there is to it...

Time; humans limit to experiences

So now you know why I make bad decisions, now you know why I do certain things.


Now you know to blame time.

The wind was howling and the trees were bare
I called your name, there was no one there
The darkness gathered all around
And stillness – there was not a sound.

It was then I saw Him watching me
With eyes so sad that I could see
He felt the sorrow and sensed my pain
He knew I’d not see you again.

He surrounded me with a kindly peace
As if He knew there was no release
And all my tears welled up inside
Emotions that I’d tried to hide
All came tumbling, tumbling down
And fell like raindrops to the ground
And in that moment I think I knew
What He, Himself, had once been through.

I stood and looked into the night
Of Him there was no longer sight
And thus I left that Holy place
Myself at peace, and you in grace
And though my life will just go on
Forever now we’ll be as one
But when I go back to that place
I’ll hope to see His peaceful face.

©Joe Wilson – A Place of Tranquility 1994 (re-edited 2014)