I have this feeling that I fucked things up. Deep down in my gut I feel like I have made wrong decisions. I have no direction, and it brings me to tears. I pray and wish for something good ~ but still goodness in any form never comes.
Nothing ever comes, No miracle has ever happened to such a terrible beauty.
“I am burdened with what the Buddhists call the monkey mind. The
thoughts that swing from limb to limb, stopping only to scratch
themselves, spit and howl. My mind swings wildly through time, touching
on dozens of ideas a minute, unharnessed and undisciplined. You are,
after all, what you think. Your emotions are the slaves to your
thoughts, and you are the slave to your emotions.”
“Don't think or judge, just listen.” ― Sarah Dessen, Just Listen Human choice you say, well then I'm fucked. I'm inevitably fucked, because humans are fucked up creatures. They are the scum that inhabit the earth. They create bad, and hold others down. Christmas comes, and people still starve. Where is that miracle? Where is the love? Where is the peace? Where are human rights? I live in America, and gay people still can't get married? I, as being a woman, still don't make as much money as a man, even though, statistically, I am better educated. A black woman is three times more likely to be incarcerated than a white woman. Is that fair? Is that justice?
I am screaming at the top of my lungs, fighting tooth and nail, and they hold me down. Hold me down. I don't even have a chance to fight! I put on my war gear and they steal my heart, my soul, and my life. Tears well and fall down my face. Nothing seems fair, nothing seems right. I pray for a miracle. I pray to God. I pray to the Devil. I pray to my source energy and the holy spirit. I pray for something, anything. Nothing ever comes. Nothing ever happens. But human choice is our savor, and it keeps the poor down below in shackles. Keeps them from seeing the light and hope. I can never have children because I couldn't stand for them to struggle in such ways as I have struggled. My mother struggled. My father struggled. I struggled. I will not be naive and think my children would not struggle in the same way.
I somehow feel it coming, creeping into my insides, the breakdown. It eats at me slowly, and tears begin to well. I have come so far but still I feel this manic tension eating away my stomach lining.
Reading doesn't help. Still there is a lot of work to be done around this ole dump. So much work, not piling, done. Garbage reeks in the backroom. Metaphorical garbage. You act like you don't notice. Working a meaningless job, I despised you. I do the same. No different. We are the same.
"She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah"
Living can be so imaginative, simple, and most of all wonderful. You can be something I lost, or something I gained. It is only up to myself to decide. Weeping never got me anywhere. My broken heart is always lovely. Another person will come, I'm sure. Hopefully you will be happy, somewhere else in the future. Hopefully I will be laughing at the past, and enjoying my self created destiny. That is my dream.