inside of me is a bellow.
a shriek that pierces the heavens,
yet echos against the bars of this prison im in.
me sick of you and the filth of me.
so loud, filled with pain and fear.
just cuz im grown that dont mean i cant hear,
that bellow inside of you spilling tears.
heartache filling up like rivers in the cracks of you
of me
inside of me too.
i scream.
For some the pain of frustration leads to a tumult
of tantrums and a verbose vomit spewing of anger and hate.
Shattering the heart – yet building walls.
Constructed by cold avoidance and confusion,
yet picked away by a romantic gesture or two.
A fickle memory born of words better left unsaid.
Heavy hands upon a tender child desiring mother’s love.
Perhaps ones formative years indeed defines today.
Fragility’s rage
is a tortoise in its shell
When danger comes, pull in, don’t run like hell.
Flashbacks and words fall upon that shanty,
Accusations now muffles within the cramped cavity.
But when no one is looking fragility’s rage
is like a magicians token quote,
“no you see me, now you don’t.”
everybody has love but I have nothing
i am weak, drained of every ounce of love.
my life’s blood the greatest thing I offer
pours out of me, overflowing every coffer.
yet when I grasp for a love of my own,
slip.
from my grip.
i am now numb.
a plant hardly watered,
is a plant undone.
ive had a long cool down.
lonely but not alone with you around.
out of the habit of loving you
like ive always wanted to.
not sure when i gave up, just kept you in a box
never to be opened up, i kept you on lock.
sometimes peeking with hope in my heart,
only to be bitten by your intemperate maw.
you were insecure, anxious, afraid and unpredictable,
i was passive, accommodating, patient and faithful.
everything that i am crushed under this weight,
buried down deep in the waste of your wake.
you were a beast, could i be the beauty?
surely i am flawed, building walls for security.
but its not your fault entirely, we’ve identified the imbalance.
prognosis and remedy giving you this last chance.
we were a beautiful anomaly,
who can understand it?
imperfect keys in harmony,
how could He have planned this?
he gives and takes away.
well, how about the pain?
yet i have not grown to disdain
the sovereign in your reign
but if this be inspiration
that propels my sanctification
then without resignation
to your providence
i prostrate my inclination
09.11.13
teachquelle 