The Enlightenment

Eyes still with the grasp of the illusion, mind blurry with the lie I feed myself daily. I see now that all I needed was your voice to wake me from myself. I had let corruption taint me like a cure-less poison flowing through my paper veins. The ill reverie now wiped, I am enlightened with the possibilities. There is much more for me than I had realized. Blue-eyed angel, reincarnated like I had decided because of your touching shoulder blades, the things I owe you will never lessen- there is not enough time in my short life to pay you back for what you have done and still do for me always.

Facades, Facades

Living with my head in the clouds. Concentrating but scattered. Calm but restless. Free falling into the past momentarily, but I'm always shaken awake with the gentle hand. I need the shake much more than you know. Please save me from glazed eyes and heavy thoughts. Past hurt brought back to the surface, but I'm an expert at subsiding pain on my front. But other times I wear it like show and tell on my shirt. It isn't always the easiest to mask it. But I'm learning. And this skill will be better for the both of us, because with my happiness brings your happiness. And that's all that really matters to me. So I will fake and mask and hide as much as I can for your happiness to remain.

Sundays

Back to the decade old pink brick house with it's clones stationed up and down streets in this generic suburban neighborhood. This place is so ridiculously dedicated to being noisy twenty fours hours, six times a week. Yes, every single day except for Sundays. Don't ask me why they choose to hold their tongues on this particular day, because I'll never know. I just love the fact that they do. A couple Sundays ago, I dubbed this my mental healing and cleansing day. A day for writing, relaxing, and catching up with family. It does me a good deed because I don't think anyone really knows just how much my mind is thinking in overdrive all week. It's exhausting and my thoughts usually get me down. Coming to this familiar pink house covered with flowers of all kinds of hues on all sides- it's an enormous relief for some reason. The weather is exceptionally perfect for sitting here writing with an old canine friend on my lap. I breathe this place into jagged lungs and let the weights lift. This place, despite the hardships endured here in the past, is one of healing now.

Riddle Me This

I have a question. Why is it that things that are perfect gradually change? There's no reason to veer off track if things are so wonderful. So then why does it happen? Is it comfort? Security? I don't think I will ever understand.

"Aren't we the same, you and I? All our love gathers the storm."

From bliss to this. I wear semblance on my skin.

Home

And of course, here's the swing of the the cycle. I need to reevaluate. Things have never been so wrong in my finally right world. There's a war inside myself that I'm losing. My stomach twists and makes me ill. I carry a lead heart. I feel confined in an open space. And I found that the only way to ease the pain is temporary distance- home. The familiar aroma of this place fills my head like the cure I need and tames the beast. The familiar faces, the interactions and conversations, the "old times"- are the perfect ploy to distract a distressed mind. But as the day ends I grow so unbearably fearful of the truth I had momentarily forgot. So much so that it creeps back in, tainting the tainted. Lets go back to the beginning.