Molotov

Being peaceful is something I’m not used to.
After a few days of silence,
That bottle in my chest becomes vibrant,
With all I’ve been pouring into it,
Glowing as it pops into pieces without a choice to fight it…

Because,
I ask myself.
Why not let it explode?
And,
Bask in gleaming light coming from the hot embers of a burning soul,
Forming into something brighter I could never explain!
Just,
Be what I’m meant to be as I let my life unfold…

Why can’t my peace last without setting a bomb in place as plan B,
To the seeds I’ve grown into poison that demands me,
To burn away my follies,
Only to create more without ever truly understanding,
Why?
So,
I just keep asking my,
God!
When will it all stop?
This feeling in my chest as if I need that L over my exclusion from every melting pot?

A question rhetorical in nature as the fruits from my labor go unnoticed.
Because,
With how lonely I’ve been,
What does it matter?
No loved ones around to pick up the pieces after my reality was shattered,
By the kind of anger only silence can solve…

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