Letter to the Young…

 

 

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One day, this world will break you

and when it does

you will never be ready

you will never be mended

and you will cease to believe;

in life,

love,

faith,

family,

god,

in everything,

although you may never admit it.

You will spend the rest of your days either in denial of the abyss at your center,

wearing a smile like paint poured out upon a sepulchre,

or

you will knowingly fall deeper into the squalor of existence,

embracing the black malevolence of your being,

casting light upon the cosmic joke of human consciousness,

gnashing your teeth at each new passing day,

cursing the insistence of the future,

and hoping for the sweet oblivion of pure nothingness.

But,

either way

you will never be whole,

you will never be well,

never at peace,

never at rest,

never at ease.

Selah.

 

 

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Smokestack

I just recently finished reading a book my therapist ‘prescribed’ to me; Healing Your Emotional SelfI won’t go into too much regarding its content here. I’m planning on writing a post regarding a few thoughts, considerations, and critiques of what I found in the text. Overall, however, I though the book was helpful and informative. As I was looking through my highlights and notes, I came across this short poem that I wrote in response to a mirror therapy exercise, an activity the book’s author is a prominent advocate of. In this particular exercise I was instructed to simply look and the mirror and describe what my face and body revealed. This is what I saw. I thought it might be good to share it. Let me know what you think.

 

I am tired,
worn,
exhausted,
weathered,
aged beyond my years,
weighed down,
hopeless.
I am a shell without occupancy,
empty,
hollow,
a fireplace without flame,
dark and foreboding,
full of nothing but soot and disuse…