Forgiving Myself

Squared up against a circle of people who I can only move forward from. Controlling my emotions are a must as I pray that my life doesn’t spiral into a tornado of bitterness and hate without a single ounce of purpose to fill the void inside of my heart. Yet, even if I’ve acted more like a sour patch kid more than anything, what bothers me most is my vision being cloudier than I ever thought it’d be. Shrouded by darkness so much so, never can I notice each piece of debris stabbing the bottom of my feet as I walk toward the end of my tunnel, whenever that may be.

Or, maybe the paragraph before this one was a way to distract myself from the real problem at hand: my lazy ass saying no to ever gremlin whispering into my ear their false promises of grandeur and inner peace through the means of, weed. Mary Jane. Ganja. Whatever name you have for the vile, promiscuous and shameless witch putting the majority of us under it’s sweet spell of ignorance being bliss. I mean, there is no more wonder as to why I’m stuck in the “weeds.” On top of this glaring travesty upon my own spirit and soul, I’ve weeded out everyone I’ve ever known in my entire life as my life went up in smoke, huffing and puffing until the night grew old. It’s just, all a vicious cycle I’ve been so desperate to break. A vicious cycle harder to shatter and disintegrate than the laughter experienced when letting it all go. The kind of laughter that’ll possess anyone when the weight on their shoulders is lifted off of their backs. But, no matter what I do, it still feels as if I’ve falling asleep in the pool of piranhas I’ve been swimming inside of, close to drowning any second as my eyelids become as heavy as the iron doors my loved ones slammed shut right in front of my face.

Why, though? Why can’t I stop even if it feels like Death has almost arrived to furiously knock on my door already hanging on its hinges? Feels like I’m already in a grave as I light up every joint with the same Hellfire that’s been torching my soul for past several years. The smell emanating from my third-degree burns pervaded my tortuous bedroom was something only an abominable demon can chase after. The kind of smell dogs turn away from with a single second of hesitation. Funny thing is, no matter how much time I take to lay down and come up with an answer, the answer has always been in the back of my head, really.

Poetry. It’s just hard to face my passion once again after all the shame I’ve wrought upon my own life as well as the promises I couldn’t keep to myself and others I’d thought would stick around forever. So hard to face a mirror, blank in expression, with acid tears running down your cheeks in the name of defeat. But…

I forgive myself. I forgive myself for ever using anger and depression as a reason to twirl around within Nothingness, cycles of pain I’ve been strongly addicted to. I forgive myself. It’s about time I do. A promises I can keep.
In the name of Jesus…