Why do I feel the need to be angry?
Because I’ve been tricked to believe I’m exiled from experiencing the human touch by so,
So many faces I’m disgusted to see whenever I close my eyes.
So used to chasing tears instead of joyful moments when it all goes,
After being told a plethora of times how worthless I’ve become,
Just to quote those who were never “guardians” of anything on their best days…
I only ask because,
I desire the kind of patience necessary for a life free of angst pricking my temple with every bit of fear bubbling all throughout my skin.
The kind where you accidentally witness a dead soul commit bloody murder and,
Walk on by!
As if nothing ever happened…
Even with another’s vitality for life violently splattered all over my stoic face…
Not that I don’t care for tragedies upon tragedies happening all across mother Earth as I speak.
Tragedies of love squandered over material we hope materializes some sort of shoulder when we cry,
Knowing it’ll never happen…
Haven’t known what it is to love myself for a change.
What it’s like to forgive myself no matter how maddening my past mistakes have been…