Gnawing at thoughts these tiny little creatures,
Scuttling all over, pricks sometimes
Those pointy meddling feet, numerous
In composition. Hurt
Comes at unexpected times.
Somewhere drips bleeding, and I
Think to myself that
People are meddlesome insects and I
Find solace only in my thoughts, so
Loyal and so intimate.
Walls have been built and I
Wouldn’t know where to begin to
Dismantle them, nor
If I would ever want to, the
Naive and trusting thing that I am, the
Humble clay walls that I’ve built,
For Citadels of pride.
Find my thoughts to be my friends and they
Keep me occupied enough, conversing
In varied tones, I
Live inside my head.
Accused of a distant past,
Painful old memories flitted across the mind,
Memories long buried emerged out of their graves
Stabbed with their soiled daggers, pointed chest-wards
Their crystal blades,
Shattered inside the flesh, left splinters
Stuck inside the festering wounds.
Whispered conspiracy oozed, feelings
Of estrangement, loneliness long suppressed
Insecurities raised their rotting heads
Insides crumpled like burning dry leaf at the sound.
The world remains uncertain and the only certain thing was lost
Once upon a time and found again, I know I had the trust
I had the faith all along
I stand to be tested, over and over again.
If feelings had colors, if they could be scanned
Mine would be blood red from all the blows I’ve had
Yet in soft cool blue letters, our story would be told
And faith carved in blood along the ivory bones.
Future smiles with outstretched arms
Run like a child,seeking warmth
Of its mother’s safe arms.
But in my careless haste,sometimes
I scratch myself on the briers that line my way
I trip,feet bound with lies, I fall
In to snares laid with deceit,
Run a stake or two through the heart, I bleed
I cry, I scream,I curse, my trust
It shatters with the fall,sometimes
I cut myself on the shards,I fear
I may never trust again.
Yet I stand,I gather myself,
I smile through the pain,I walk through the rain.
Battle wounds run deep,they sting,they hurt
But they heal
With time. Yet sometimes,
I think I will die, bleed myself to death and yet
Wounds turn to scabs, scabs turn armor
Valuable stuff these scars, they serve as maps
Of where I have been,of what I have survived
The blood that I’ve shed is the rouge on my lips
The tears that I’ve cried are the pearls around my neck
I wear my kind deeds,they are the garlands in my hair
My perfume is sweet,it is my virtue that I’ve preserved.
I stand tall,I run swift
I run like the wild black mare unleashed,
My limbs ache,I ail sometimes
Yet I battle demons,ward monsters,beware
My wounds become armor,my scars become shields,
My heart survived blows,becomes stronger still
I am what I am,I’ve braved many storms
My faith is strong, I’ve always
Always carried on.