I always imagined the world as this big, giant, ball of rubber bands..
As if we all held a strand, that was as entangled as anothers, connected,
brought together, quiet, but violent..
When one would leave this world, their band would snap and others would hurt.
You could hear it across the world, the sound of every snap, every break..
Every heart..that broke.
I always told myself, when it came to love-
I wanted the sunflower that grew, not the rose that withered.. I always told
myself, that, that is what I deserved. Little did I know my mind was a warning
sign, my heart at a halt. It was only when I met him,
did it stop..
I was labeled, 'too unattached', 'too broken', 'too sad', my poems were not
ribbons of silky soul- but burdens that weighed more than my heavy heart. 'Bastard,'
those close to me called him, 'shallow and obsolete..'
but I saw reason through his words...
as much as it pains me..
I was the rose that withered, I was the band not in the ball. I pushed it all away,
I allowed myself to fall. Sometimes... we forget we have responsibilites, even
with this pain inside me.. I knew my priority- should have been, that those around me
did not suffer the same constant tragedy.. I made a little cocoon far away and wrapped
myself in it, with promises to grow beautiful wings.. I told myself I was worth it,
but barely took care of myself. I told myself I could handle it,
without knowing they were all suffering..
It may be true, ive heard tales of the wounded warrior, that danced in the spring,
the blood on his clothes, the words he would sing-
a sad lullaby,
the most tragic of them all,
the tale of the angel that could escape the pain,
but refused to fly, only to fall...
Thats the tale of depression, the most loving of the wounds, the wound that left you
needy to help those around you-- to reach out, to take the suffering for years you had
mastered how to keep-
to dry the tears of those around you if only to paint them over your tear streaked face and
scream to the heavens 'IF I DIE TODAY, I WILL KNOW HOW TO HANDLE THIS PAIN.'
I am a canvas, and despite my mistakes,
I begin a new painting,
for now, its only a face.
The face of who I used to be, and who I plan to be.. This painting I shall call 'responsibility'
and let it harbor inside me, teach me, as I have never been taught before.
I once was a girl who knew it all,
oooh how the world deceieved me!
For my wisdom now rears its end, and anew begins.
I will love the world, even if it has hated me.
I will set out to be who I am, whoever I want to be.
This is the tale of the wounded warrior,
who held the bands together.
This is the tale f the sunflowers..
and cried together.
This is the tale..
As I work through these endeavors..