After a real long time and multitude of posts that were born and gone inside my head, this one is for keeping...
I hate you ...
I hate you for what you do to me.
I hate you for the pain of too much tenderness.
I hate you for the way I feel overwhelmed by a ripple, a drizzle or a feather.
I was just so content wading my feet in the shallows of life and you come along and push me into the gorges.
Now I am gulping and gasping ... so much joy and so much pain.
But this I tell you ...I hate you for making me feel alive,
just when I taught myself to sleep-walk through my days.
I walk around with a scarred heart and every scar I treasure
Each one a reminder of a hard time , a broken promise , a withered dream or a lost love,
a star I wear for surviving.
Now , the toughness of my scars is giving away and I seem to lay bare.
The fear of the ensuing pain has set my heart to a blur.
Do I have the energy to muster up myself and put my pillows to dry?
I lay on bed trying to figure out if I am sleeping or awake.
Should I hurt or get hurt?
Should there be hurt at all?
I have no answer. I will bask in this moment that is.
Even as I shine my armour, I will let my blade to rust.
I will say a prayer that there may be no hurt ...no pain.
If there has to be pain, then let it be like the pain of waking up from a beautiful dream,
where the heart is the mirth of the dream and the mind is aware of what lies ahead.
You will always be fondly thought of ...but still...I hate you .
I hate you ...
I hate you for what you do to me.
I hate you for the pain of too much tenderness.
I hate you for the way I feel overwhelmed by a ripple, a drizzle or a feather.
I was just so content wading my feet in the shallows of life and you come along and push me into the gorges.
Now I am gulping and gasping ... so much joy and so much pain.
But this I tell you ...I hate you for making me feel alive,
just when I taught myself to sleep-walk through my days.
I walk around with a scarred heart and every scar I treasure
Each one a reminder of a hard time , a broken promise , a withered dream or a lost love,
a star I wear for surviving.
Now , the toughness of my scars is giving away and I seem to lay bare.
The fear of the ensuing pain has set my heart to a blur.
Do I have the energy to muster up myself and put my pillows to dry?
I lay on bed trying to figure out if I am sleeping or awake.
Should I hurt or get hurt?
Should there be hurt at all?
I have no answer. I will bask in this moment that is.
Even as I shine my armour, I will let my blade to rust.
I will say a prayer that there may be no hurt ...no pain.
If there has to be pain, then let it be like the pain of waking up from a beautiful dream,
where the heart is the mirth of the dream and the mind is aware of what lies ahead.
You will always be fondly thought of ...but still...I hate you .
