A Beautiful Life

 

treading water

My lungs thirsty for air…

I fought and I fought hard

but I am sinking in a quicksand of constant expectation

In a sea of worry and life draining stress…

This life is a story

And I’m in the second chapter

But I still don’t know what the hell I am reading about

because the words on these pages

the sentences

the paragraphs

have been drenched in a toxic gas of doubt

and a Match

A single Match

consumed by flames

these pages would burn to ash

to nothing  

because every story comes to an end…

but has this one even begun?

It seems the current trend

is fire, nuces, and pills to no end

A battlefield where our worst enemies are ourselves

And ourselves are our worst enemies.

But haven’t we been taught to love ourselves?

When will this end? When will we learn to live?

I long for the aroma of freedom

Like the sidewalk after a rainfall

The water seeping where it wishes

And not into me

But somehow it always gets to me

I am strong, or at least I like to think

But she

Age 23

She bleeds her depression

Her hair like silk and gold at her shoulders,

And her eyes as green as the pastures

But she does not see her beauty

 

Instead…

When she glances in the mirror

Her inner hatred paints her face with flaws

Her inner hatred drives a car into a wall

A car decorated with dents and broken glass

Into a wall of hope

Hope to end it all.

She does not see her beauty.

And she will never see herself

The way that I see her

And I wish I could be her mirror

So maybe then she could see

Or try to see

What I see

When I see her.

And I try to tell her.

I sing a song of hope and love

And beauty

I wrap her in my arms

And promise her a life

A life of happiness

But I was taught not to lie

 

I was taught not to lie.

 

My story isn’t well put together

And it isn’t any better than hers.

But She..

She writes stories to get away from her own

And she dreams of a world far from here

She wishes to make like a Robin and fly far away

But I won’t let her take flight

 

I have no answers..

 

While I struggle to read the words,

She seems to struggle harder

 

This story is intertwined

With pressure to be amazing

And punishment if you aren’t

This story is tied with A’s, B’s, And D’s

Not C’s, because C’s are D’s

 

And a D is an F

 

and if you have a F…

You are a failure

But I do not see her as a failure.

Her grades told her she was not good enough

Her scars screamed “WEAK”

And the tears plastering her face…….

They deemed her unworthy

And I…

I silenced the voices

I looked at the my story

The pages torn and wet with distress

And I dried them

And I saw the words.. The word’s I had written

 

And those words...

they are still words and they are still a part of my story

And though we haven’t yet been able to understand

to read

to see through the gas

the sea

the sand

the the mistakes

the inevitable expectations

those pages are still pages

and those paragraphs are still paragraphs

those sentences are still sentences and those words

those words are still words…

So unlike her, I will have the courage to keep going

And I will pull her along…

 

As soon as I learn to read…

 

this story has an outline of tears and crumples

but holds the sweetest promise of joy

and endless pages

 

And when the water makes home completely in my lungs,

I will struggle to breathe,

but I will still try to breathe

And after I have learned to breathe,

Under the water

I will no longer struggle to stay afloat

but I won’t be free

The salty taste of the water will still linger

But I won’t let it choke me

 

I need not to learn to read

but perhaps I need to remember to write

because after all this is my story

these words are my words

these sentences are my sentences

 

If I do not allow the sea to consume me

if I do not allow the sand to go over my head,

I can keep writing

And I will take her hand and stick a pencil in it

I will guide her

And I will teach her how to write

Because her story is

One of beauty

Oh the beauty

They say that the beauty is in the eye of the beholder

And I will hold her

Until she can behold a love for herself

And together we can write

Our stories

Because to live…

To live IS an awfully big adventure