I stand before the crowd screaming as loud as I can. My voice reverberates off their indifference like the greatest of all shields. Their backs turn, their phones are all they hear. I do not have a phone so I may not communicate as they wish me to. In all the great glory of technological marvel, the greatest disaster is silence to the love they swear they feel but do not wish to speak openly, only to the dead receiver that can’t truly transmit the feeling. We seek yet the means to say I love you from a distance and hope it is trusted, even as we lay beneath the sheets of another.
I see a hand raised in violence and shout that this should not be but silence is all that’s heard as she takes the blow without hope. She wishes for the one who can make it stop but closes her ears to the sound of real salvation. She yearns to leave the hurt but not the man. He may yet be saved from his eternal torture which he inflicts on others. Even unto her own damnation and destruction will she ever curse the hurt but never to one who inflicts it.
Silence is all that awaits me in the halls of care as I cannot find the means to unlock their indifference and make them hear. If even one voice shall respond then I shall not be alone. Can I find that one voice or due to the unfortunate face I bear, will I be forced to confront the hell of silence?
Where is the logic to ignore support? It feels a lot like speaking from within a void when those you support can’t be bothered to respond and let you know they hear you and appreciate the added voice. This tendency that many have, has the power, not to change the support, but to silence the voice of support. It makes one think that those who wish to push for better lives, not only want the support, but wish to direct who can support them; like it’s necessary to discriminate in who is allowed to be an ally.
It doesn’t matter as I’ll still stand up and say to all the women who’ve felt the sting of being tormented for simply being a woman; you are loved, even if that love comes from those you don’t know yet. Hold to your faith that someday the scales will be balanced.
Battered, bruised, the heart can’t take it for a lifetime and remain viable. Such is my heart as rejection is the norm. I hear the platitudes that I should just live for myself but that breeds bitterness. The seeds of the bitter are planted and a crotchety old man is taking form. Ruined I am for this world and a sincere wish to see the next soon grows with each day.
She awakens, showers and dresses with all the careful attention to detail she’s come to expect. As she stands before the mirror, putting on her makeup she has a sudden question, “Why am I doing this? I’ve spent my life working on this ritual but never asked this of myself.”
She studies every feature of her face as her mind works on the answer then she has a sudden smile as she replies, “I do this for myself.”
The day is glorious because she understood this.
Be well all the glorious women however you appear and never change unless you can say this same thing, “I do this for myself.”
Trying to find your place in a world you don’t believe in feels like a weight crushing the soul. After spending the bulk of my life ducking my head in the sand it feels like I’m trying to speak to people using a dead language. In my attempts to make my voice heard, I feel like I’ve lost touch with how to talk. It doesn’t help when you’re a non-conformist. I have a hard time connecting to people through what’s deemed important today because I can’t share that sense of importance. I can’t bring myself to be the performing monkey or the dog that behaves for fear of biting the master’s hand.
It is my basic wish to hear people’s opinions on my work; positive or negative. Both perspectives help growth but silence is the breeding ground of stagnation. I feel like a relic of a bygone era because I didn’t grow up in an era with massive support. I grew up in a time when people swallowed their issues. Now there’s tons of support for the youth but for those like me, the world seems to be running me over and passing me by.
I stand before the world but behind the walls of the box called insecurity I was placed in through bullying and never found the key to get out. Most of the blame belongs on my shoulders as I allowed this state to cost me many things that mattered a great deal in my life. At 41 I’m searching for the means to break the box but afraid I’ve chased away all my support.
Bullying is a crippling affliction when it starts young and barely lets up in the adult life. Growing up in an era when we didn’t have the massive support; being shunted behind the doors with signs reading, “Boys will be boys,” and “You know how kids are.”
Many are the feelings of wanting to fold; to give in; to lose hope. My fight is with hope and the honest belief the walls of my self-imposed prison are too thick to break. I try. Oh…how I try, to pop the bubble and reconnect to the important past but I’ve been left behind and do not know enough of the current world to connect to anyone new.
I’ll continue to try but I run from the grip of an early grave with slower and slower steps as I dive headlong into the very activities; or lacking the active; that’s turning me to face it rather than run. I sit here in front of my computer day in and day out, smoking, feeling my body getting weaker by the day and caring less and less if I ever find the real answer.
I send out my cry within the bubble; expecting backs to be turned with the earbuds in and continue to try and fail to find even one who’ll take the distractions out of their path and see something valuable worth preserving.