Sometimes. There is silence here. Calmness that exceeds my very own understanding. Probably because there has always been chaos and difficulties. Inadequacy too. The soul can't be more thrilled for living to see this happen even if it is only sometimes.
In that quiet, thousands of whispers converge to say what seems to be a whole lot. Things that they must have been piling over time while waiting for an opportunity to spew them here. Nothing they ever have to say is shareable sadly.
Oftentimes. There is the undigested shock of belonging. Some sacred contentment occupying the same space toxic waste had. It is unimaginable what a healthy and steady dose of unquestionable love can achieve in months.
I'd gladly call it magic. The rare kind!
The trick usually is to balance how loud the voices screaming -how you don't deserve anything that pure- can get. Silencing them for good is another whole different ballgame. We coexist here.
Sometimes. There is a sea of worry and bottomless doubts. Features long ingrained with how everything works here. Obsessing and overthinking can be felt helping make it an ocean just to drown a single soul.
It is then that the chest gets weighty. Breathing becomes a task. Paranoia can be felt enveloping everything like the night. How do we go back to the light? The soul can always be caught wondering.
Sometimes. There is the need to ask for help. To shout at the top of our punched keyboards that we are sinking. Pride can be felt awakening shame to rise to the occasion and bury this being.
How is it that up until now we don't have it together? Maybe no man is an island but this is getting out of hand. Until when? Is the question that even time itself is asking.
Sometimes. The thought of incapability swarms in. Budding hope is forcefully evicted. Darkness can then be felt looking to reign while feeding off the unproclaimed but present sense of defeat.
It is then expected that this essence should decay and die. That it won't even flinch leave alone fighting back for it's space. But then again, who gives up their home so easily though?
Sometimes. Undiluted emotions find their way to the surface. Fast unlike baby teeth. The skin finds it impossible to contain some. And without a warning they make it known that they exist even after years of them trying to be buried deep.
Their stand can be translated into humanity. We must be a part of that enervated looking strong race!
This is more like prose than it is poetry... share your thoughts :)