She carries the weight,
As she tries to walk straight.
She cannot help but seethe.
Treading through mud,
And emotional blood.
Constantly trying to breathe.
The pain that she felt,
From the cards she was dealt -
Not knowing the reasons why.
The tears she would weep,
From a sadness so deep,
That echoes and amplifies.
For the rest of her life,
At the edge of a knife -
The slightest movement will ****.
"Keep calm. Keep steady.
Get with it already."
Or all that's distasteful will spill.
Behind all her mystery,
Is sadness and misery -
A truth she wants no one to find.
"She's magic" they'll say,
Before they run astray.
To this madness they won't be confined.
She will never be risen,
For her body's a prison,
Her mind, a bitter disease.
But they have a choice.
Without her, they'll rejoice.
They can live however they please.
Her soul is tired; heart is spent.
- Generational Torment -
Seeping from the past into each day.
Sifting through; righting what's wrong.
Hoping that her love is strong,
Enough for all the pain to be repaid.
Maybe one day, finally
A healed being she will be.
It's all she ever wanted all along.
She can't run from this existence,
But perhaps with some persistence,
Maybe she can finally belong.
She cries for you, she cries for me.
She cries for every long lost being.
She just wants the suffering to end.
A lineage of damage
On her plate to manage -
A lifetime of work to transcend.
Look past the hurt, beyond the pain.
It is clear what still remains:
The beginnings of a budding lotus flower.
This is nature, seeking nurture.
To this earth she needs an anchor.
This is the beginning of her power.
~ ☼ ~
To healing. To responsibility. To connection.
