I lidded up a candle and before I know how to handle the burn, I balled myself up and roll in the flame. You already know my name and the lane I’m in, I stop sending prayers, long before I started praying to myself.
Three steps away from the mud, miniskirts, and mockingbird, people got a lot to say but know no shit about where I’m from. Got the heart of a moron eager and yearning, perhaps I’m a narcissistic perhaps a realist but you live for this.
Soft voice, legs close and sugar-free for a woman to be, a stomach full of empty and a pocket stocked with dreams. I left my pride and stepped inside a tavern, cigarette cloud build a roof over my head away from the dread soul of mortality. Sawdust on the floor reminds me of the woods I used to burn begging for help from the nonexistent.
I sit for hours staring into the open flame in the kitchen, something in the glory stock the power I was born to obey.
A million candles were burned for the help that never came, a prayer to the air wishing someone’s gonna hear, a stone gonna signal, or a ghost gonna help.
There are names of people, places, and smells that could be sealed to those chosen children, every one of us has those list of fear that holds us from throwing another step, afraid to repeat the experience, to hear, and even throw up when one mention those names.
There are names that are sealed to my head of those whom I’m afraid of, places that I can’t walk past, and smells that make me lose my breath, but I didn’t choose to tag them on me, they chose me.
They imprinted on me.
I hate the living kind the human culture and their existence, but I don’t hate them as much as my own being. I hated how I treated myself with endless journeys, I have way too much shame, guilt, and hate toward myself that I would take a lifetime to explain.
But I never spilled out how much I hated myself, if I ever uttered a word, those who have ears to listen will speak, those who are too free with their life will spread, and those ignorant will hear. Those who have eyes will start looking and they will speak the word only I can say to myself.
I have reasons and different excuses to hate my own self, and none has to know. I can slit my wrists, trace my fears, call myself names, burn my skin, dam my dignity, and grave my soul but no one has the right to do what I do to myself. Not a single soul is allowed to say to me what I say to myself. One’s could mean so dearly to me, I won’t ever trade you for anyone in the world, But you have to know that I’m willing to place myself over anyone every second of the day.
I know my sins are mine alone, my body is mine to own, my thoughts are mine to carry, and my demon is on my own leash. I wasn’t born yesterday I’ve been broken, bruised, and killed, parts of me die every time I let down my walls, and I know that life is tough and painful.
I’ve been through hell and back, I have my fingers wrapped around my pen and a hand wrapped around the universe I never wished to be in, so no matter how fucked up or dammed your life is, you do not have any excuses to treat me wrong, to sneakily disrespect my kind, or to overpower me. I don’t need the shame spiral, the fresh pain, or unnecessary filters.
I am a force to be reckoned with. I have every inch of ability and every right to stand against injustice, to stand up for myself and to own up to mistakes I’ve made, to change and to rectify, to break bonds and to show kindness to myself as well as to others,
To gracefully and humbly accept defeat as a vantage point for my future endeavors.
I’m not being egoistic or self-centered but I tolerate my failure and my endless sense of disappointment, and I learn to wrestle with my own demon, to overcome my shame, to recognize that there is a false, even if it casts fear in me.
Life and its connotation isn’t as potent as it used to be,
but my life is mine to live
My body is mine to own
Shame is mine to set.
casaneth 