To not feel bad, one must not make another sad. As pain reflected with pain, leads to a life of only little gain. One in which we hurt one another to heal our own skin, is a life in which we will never be closer, more akin.
With one stab in each arm, to lerch out and react, only causes more harm. Fact.
Sometimes it’s hard to do though, to see and to know. That your next step in dealing with hurt, will to be dealing out actions, even more curt. I guess in being more self aware, is the best place to start, in not going there. To that point where you’re subtly lulled, into that position, of being cold.
A knife does not heal the wound it creates,
All it does now is remove the bandages,
The ones that wrap round to stop the bleeding,
In hope the cut eventually begins kneading,
No more knife, no more,
Only time, and the hope of no scar.
She doesn’t know,
Any more about the flow.
Talking a good game,
Never living up to her claim,
She tries to win it all,
Is the cause of her fall.
Beauty in her attempt,
Leaving her in contempt.
Not for outside,
But for her own hide,
As she knows her own,
Weight of skin and bone.
Even in accepting,
The opposite days.
Love in every inhale,
Breathing out to sail,
Into a life on a breeze,
Into a life of ease.
Without a cow sight unseen
Early morning dream
Ocean at shore
Sun rises a mist of haze
The Devil dresses in white,
He’ll come by when the stars shine bright,
Claim your land and life his own,
So he can sit, on his polished white throne,
For the richness of one many suffer,
The man in white though has his buffer,
From the pain he causes with his desires,
Just to be comfortable, with more than he requires,
Ignorance is his main card that he has to hand,
One he plays constantly, head in sand,
Even if he sees and becomes aware,
He’ll most likely turn away as he cannot bare,
For what he stumbles upon is the injustice for his cause,
And now he fears to face pandora’s claws,
A corrupted world all for his gain,
One people died, to save in vain?
I never got past a C in English,
It bored me, to inspiration of a death wish,
Hated subject, hated hour,
Every passing week,
Meekly going sour,
I don’t wish I ever listened,
As peoples wise words wisely christened,
Now that my hate is drastically turning,
In to an eccentric love filled with passion,
As yearning for an AQA textbook was never my fashion,
Nor anyones, bar the few,
Still I’m doubting this latter view,
Shouldn’t we be taught to inspiration?
Is this not the idea behind schooling,
A pool in which we find our liberation,
Anyway, maybe I just slipped the net,
Whilst in majority the whole shoal was kept,
Inspired to lives brimming in glory,
As I’m left to sit and write,
Poetical blight without a story.
Have a look,
No one bought their way into anything,
Dreams happen by believing in your ability to sing,
When you know you screech like a cat,
But your mind accepts and embraces that,
Shows you a new direction to express your voice,
Of which you then decide of your own choice,
Is the dream that you were always looking to attain,
As its all you, the whole show,
The painting in that frame.