My Divine Question

Growing is difficult. There is no more difficult time than the present. Where future and past collide in depression and anxiety, where the chance of love and fear find their way in a weird type of hate/love relationship that expands into night’s of troubled sleep.

Last night I could not sleep until half way through my appointed schedule. Before sleeping, I felt death approach me in my chest, almost smelling its breath.

I always found it odd that in the times when I know something good can happen, when growth is good, the same challenges arise in front of me with each obstacle.  The fear of loss, not being good enough, saying the wrong words, let alone showing any sign of hope, edges me into a state of nonexistence.  

What ups the anty is the intermingling of sexual innuendos and loss of touch, challenging me to judge myself as not good enough.  Yet somehow, in some strange way, I am learning to no longer judge these as good or bad, yet disclosed and hidden. What is hidden shall be revealed. The lack of judgment brings me into the understanding that I am capable of loving myself. Thus bringing me into that divine question, revealing itself Monday, “Can you let go of the control over your loneliness, sorrow, and pain?” 

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Silence

Silence, I once thought, was my enemy.

Slowly, my friend, it has become.

It is not judgmental towards our weaknesses, our strengths, even

the bad and good acts we do to ourselves and others.

It is there when I am rejected or accepted.

It is willing to help me understand my weaknesses and gives me

insight into my character.

Through abuse, neglect, and rejection,

I was taught to keep silent, for I was not worth hearing.

How could I speak when I had trouble speaking?

By the judgments of others I learned, I was not valued,

I was not seen for who I am as a human,

only a body that is not measuring to the expectations

others so gallantly exalted to what is true, noble, right,

or what can help them feel better about themselves.

How sad I am finally knowing what silence is now.

My own silence and the silence of others.

The Most Frightening Thing

It is a scary event.

Uncontrolled.  Precariously exalted.

Sex.

Black                                                                     and                                                                  white.

Throwing in some gray.

The first picture                                       the first scene.

The first act sets up the finale that breaks the soul.

There is no telling the end, only the repetition of the beginning.

Over and over it goes.

The fear of touch, the lack of touch.

Too much,

Touch                                                             in-between.

Skewed does the view come to me at night when sleep escapes                                          me.

But why?

I see my own, and others, and a mix of two people in one.

All intermingling,

two,

three, and more.

The only way I see to get out is down.

The only truth is                                       Nothingness.

The deep.  Inward.  Silent.

The voices are finally leaving,                                                the thoughts no longer rambling.

After the event that played in my head, in my hands, at times, the tears come, but sobs remain, and I keep stringing myself along.

Freedom: what a strange concept.

No one around to hear my screams of peace.

I guess pain shows there is a need within the hole of life…