Facing Demons

Let me form my own identity without the irrelevant opinions of the forces made by your ignorant rules and confining regulations.

I am not one to stay around where respect isn’t received, but if standing up for what I believe means hiding behind a podium waiting for the chance to speak out against the torturous facts of life placed upon us by strangers, then I shall continue to write.

You are no stranger to me, but what you assume is rarely the truth.

Accepting changes begins with realizing the differences between then and now.

The cracks in my skin are only the proofs of in-depth reformations carved out by the forceful knives of your words and daggers of disgust.

Do my words relay any meaning to you?

Must I capture your attention in a picture and blow it up on a poster to hang on the back wall of this empty auditorium?

Sitting in silence, I watch the audience as thoughts crowd my mind, or maybe they are just meaningless words.

The sea of unfilled seats flood my vision and crash into the concrete walls surrounding my heart.

Regardless of my intentions, waves of emotion break down the barrier protecting my heart from bruises and cuts.

Anger surges through my veins fueling my feet with the energy needed to run away.

An angel once taught me that facing your demons head-on is easier than running from them, because no matter how far you go, the demons will follow.

And so I stand behind the podium without fear, writing down the words meant to be heard by a willing audience.

This is no valediction.

I’ll stand here until my voice is heard.

When you’re ready to listen, turn on my mic and take a seat.

I’ve reserved two chairs for you, front and center.

 

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