A Letter To Self

The bird’s chirp is either the first four bars of its song, signaling to all the bitches that they’re still her sons. Or it’s communicating in a language I do not pretend to understand. Either way, it sounds beautiful. It is a sign of good health and wellbeing, a pleasant awakening.  

Yet the elephant remains a sight to see. A clement sight to heed; behold its present might to be. In a room devoid of time and space, it beckons only to that of greed. Deprived of its needs, a creation of its deeds – tell me, what more could you possibly need?  

The pride-filled man, envious in his ways, lives to endure time without mistakes. Behold, a false sense of self he boasts – an act to fulfil this here role. Tell me, what are you afraid to know? Is it love? Is it trust? Intimacy, touch? What are you afraid to own?

What’s making you feel so alone? What are you sad to know? What are you afraid of letting go? Yes, it’s easier said than done, but as you walk the path of discomfort, you’ll see it’s easier said and done. What more do you need to know? 

A Letter To Self

See, it isn’t as overwhelming as it seems, it’s just that it’s been a while since I last felt free.  

To be seen, and not like this – not when security remains a factor beyond my reach.  

I want to be me, but not like this. Rattled down the path of discomfort, or without a choice in how I express what I see. That is not how I ought to be. 

Uncertain, I care not to think otherwise. What could be isn’t, and what is sure feels like it’s meant to be. Yet, up for debate hangs the purpose of it all. 

A Letter To Self

To endure time without hope, without trust, without love. He’s dramatic, he knows but he’s up for the role. Once upon a time, a grave danger threatened his home, his innocence stripped – ridden with marks of control. Lost and without a voice, he laid bare, withering in sight of hope.  

And herein lies the first of many – an involuntary sorry state of affairs – I hope you’re ready. Take to the stage and remember to smother our ego, lean on what you know and you’ll be just fine. Omit what you please and remember, the stage is yours.  

After all, it’s just a game till sudden death – what’s next in the life after this ordeal here? Peace, a voice-force of innocence – see, I still don’t know what it means. But without hope, love and trust, its warmth will continue to evade the stranded soul.

Uncertain, you fight the urge to think otherwise. Filtered through the eye of the beholder, the ignorant fool, boisterous in his attempt to tek yuh fi eeediat. And so, in fear you tame – submerged in your thoughts, you limit your ability to heal, to breathe. Through your nose and out through the mouth lies the following steps. 

A Letter To Self

An envious man sacrifices his health and wellbeing for the greater good. He’s naïve – driven solely by the path it seems he vows to protect. Headstrong, he fails to see the inevitable – no path leads to the holy grail. And even one did, and he attains his lifelong dream, will he then feel worthy of its praise?

Raised to survive. To grind and hustle; to work twice as hard for a better life, but how? Education – we’re reminded of its perks, and without it, one becomes prey to society’s evildoers. The ones who sit at the top peering down at us with fear in their hearts – don’t you dare take one more step. 

Or what? Seeds of regret, sowed into the fabrics of your veil sprout as you scream down pillars of hypocrisy. You were taught to do as they say and not as they do, for you are in no position to question what they claim to be true.  

You are, after all, a fool. A finely tuned tool. Another stickler for the rule. The man – the trooper, leading the way for those to follow. But with each stride hangs a great price – a mute vice.