On trial

Where to start remembering you? More than likely no one recalls their first breath outside the safety of that blackened room, as innocent as possible, you come through. Without war if mom and you were healthy. There were no earthquakes or famine or hurtful words if you were lucky.

Time has a way of mocking this love. Pushed to do with force, witnessing the shocking truth. These fissures begin to chip away the outside, bearing the inside to malady and agony.

Thursday

The world is glad you are alive.
It promises to skip Thursday.
Every week it showers leniency
to spare the experience
displaying the heart of its soul.

Appointments to meet and talk seem harmless. They could even be a much needed balm that is otherwise absent. You locked away, in protective armor, penetrable only by those skilled at unlocking a tortured soul.  It is both a blessing and a curse.

Only on paper can you be who you are. There is no criticism to be heard because the words are no longer yours once they leave. These words become foreigners to you. You refuse to claim them as yours even though you are named as the author. Your rights to keep them are given away. No one can hold you responsible and you become free from the prison they construct.

You may revisit the memories, remembering where you left your thoughts. Editing the awkward phrases or choice of words that fall short. A new appearance rises traveling towards wholeness. This may be the work of madness or it can be a verdict of blamelessness on all counts.

Accolade and praise are useless. They become empty, no matter how genuine, when you realize it is all just a fading reality, marked with secret struggles that someone may relate with and then your existence becomes their existence and this is the only way to survive.