You anger me.... I could not live my life not fighting for what I want. How can you sit on your hands and cry about how nothing is getting done, nothings changing, nothing's working... And then expect someone else to wipe away your tears because you are too stuck sitting on your **** hands. You always say, "be the change you wish to see in the world." Does that mean you want everyone to be scared of their own shadow adding illness upon illness to their list of problems. Problems they've half created to mask the real turmoil that stirs inside, late at night? Problems that are only just rules they've made for themselves to keep their hearts tucked in a box: too afraid to climb out, to try. Too afraid to fail. To cry. To feel anything. Disappointment, loss, stage fright...love. I guess, feeling out of control can make you do a lot of weird and senseless things like saying you can't do something for the sole purpose of being able to control your own ability to do or not to do something that may be unfamiliar, too far away from the safety of your own womb. It must be tiring sitting up in your room all day long writing song after song about how you would want this world to be or what things in life could be different. Stop. Take a walk and maybe talk to a homeless person. Yes, someone you don't know, but who is just like you just naked and hungry and cold. Give them the shirt off your back that you didn't even pay for and maybe it will give you some hope for yourself. I see you shove down your emotions with pills and cuts and smoke and mirrors. Magic tricks you pull out of your bag for a quick fix, an escape from the hell that, by passive notions, you've helped create. Trade in your anxiety pills and energy drinks and cigarettes for a conversation with someone who's not out to get you, for a plate of real and nourishing food, for a long and reflective hike where the air you breathe there is crisp and clear and clean. Feel the Sun kiss your scarred and pale and thirsty flesh. Feel the grass, the earth, under your feet ground you and be planted there so you don't drift away into thin air. And feel that air tickle the baby hairs on your neck and let it dance around your ear whispering gentle power and sweet salvation. stop shoving down your feelings, your thoughts, your desires. They'll get stuck down there and they will rot and you will rot and you will die. Don't die. Pull that poison out of you. Scream. Don't let it win. Deal with each and every thought and feeling as it comes even though it's painful and makes your stomach ache and your head spin. Even though it will probably come back each and every time to taunt and tease and torture you. Fight back. Fight back. Live and live hard like there's no other way to live. But you won't. And that's sad. And you anger me because you're a reminder of who I once was and who I still could be if I stopped trying.
