I know. It can be scary to feel. You either feel too much or nothing at all. Or even worse, you feel you've hit the bottom so many times you stop being afraid of the fall. Maybe you're already there, and you decide to take a look around. You start to feel safe. Because you fear you'll be judged if you are ever found. Judged for falling when people thought they were picking you up. Judged for staying at the bottom just because you were "stuck in a rut." And these fears are valid. These fears may come true. But these judgements will come from people who love you. I know it might not be clear what I'm trying to say, so here it is: it's okay to be afraid. But if no one knows there's a problem, they'll never be able to help show you the way.
In this remote and cold world Peter and his beautiful wife, Pearl lived alone, most on their own, together Pearl loved Peter with her life she was an honourable wife till death, did do them apart, forever
Every morning before the sun she’d rise up and she would come and kneel at his feet by the bed She’d roll on his warm sock put on his slippers, in her smock every day, since the day they had wed
All her friends knew of her love mocking, laughed, “it’s enough! thinking, he treated her like a slave But it was only then, when he died that they all stopped and sighed realising just exactly what he’d gave
for every night when they’d sleep he pulled up the blanket to keep her face warm and little nose for poor Peter was taller and the covers were shorter exposing his feet and freezing his toes
I have five fingers Raised in my defence You accept my surrender We shake, without offence Till, I point with my index Raise my thumb for a gun Curl three fingers back Tucked into my palm “Bang! …Bang! You shot me A simple twist of my wrist You aim it back at me A hand gun for a fist
There is no defence when standing in judgment of others
A thumb flicks repetitive across the screen. Scrolling. Images of faces, targeted ads and mundane art.
A random couple standing on the beach. I pause for them.
His toad like appearance distorts my face, One nostril scrunching up in displeasure at the belly that sticks out rounding into his chest so you can’t tell where his torso starts and ends, while a pair of swim trunks desperately attempt to cling to a skeletal waist.
Her body is normal aside from the concave stomach and the ***** that had clearly been poked at, flayed away, reshaped into an over exaggerated spherical shape.
Two figures clearly trying and failing to force their bodies to reject their aging fate, but they succeed in looking less human, and more like that of distorted dreams. Their skin is too dark, slicked up with oil, and all I can think of is when leather for skin became fashionable.
Their bodies are theirs to do as they please, but this new species of seal takes away the beauty of the water kissing the shore and I find the thought of these distorted figures mar my vision of the beach into a sour taste.
I can only assume its attention they want with the transaction they made: her youth for his money. So tell me, is it not within my right to judge? Is it?
I scold myself for being quick to judge with my eyes though I cannot find myself to be sorry; For they have clearly invested in their outwardly appearance. For the sake of themselves or others who is to say? But they parade through sand exposed, out on display.