Tread Softly

Help me fly, my wings are broken ;
I’m unable to take the brunt of this weight, I’m no Atlas

Help me fly, I’m tied to the stake,
Burning, for I’m not normal

Help me fly, I can’t take it anymore
I want to leave:
I want less, I want more

Help me fly, I don’t know what to do,
The same thing happens over and over again,
I can’t be Sisyphus

Help me fly, this knowledge is too much,
What would have happened if Prometheus didn’t bring fire?

Help me fly,
I’m no Athena: smart and wise

Help me fly,
I’m no Aphrodite: beautiful and of love

Help me fly,
I have no place in the sea or the sky

{Help me fly,
Like Hades I am left with the dead}

Help me fly, my wings are broken
Who will lend me theirs?

Help me fly, my wings are broken
So how can I leave?

Help me fly, my wings are as broken as me ;

Sometimes we cry when we’re happy
Sometimes we cry when we’re sad

Sometimes we cry when we’re angry
Sometimes we cry when we’re mad

Sometimes we cry;

Sometimes it’s okay to cry:
To release all pent up emotions,
The stress of it all;
To philosophise and contemplate what yesterday was, what is happening now, and the world of tomorrow

Sometimes it’s not okay to cry:
The wrong place,
The wrong time,
And even sometimes labels and stereotypes

Let no one tell you differently:
It’s okay to cry,
It’s okay to feel as much as it is to think and take action
It’s okay

It might not have been okay;
It might have been okay
It might not be okay;
It might be okay
It may not be okay;
It may be okay

Feel free
Take time
t o  c r y

Contemplate,
Relax;
You can

Every time I start to think that everything is fine and I’m in the clear
Something ends up happening;
Worst yet, it’s exactly the same thing

I’m stuck feeling d é j à - v u :
How can I keep doing this?
Why do I keep hoping?
Help me, I can’t make it,
If I only knew the answer…

The same exact thing is always too much to bear,
My emotions get the best of me,
My eyes red-rimmed

I should leave, I know,
But it’s almost wonderful when it’s fine,
And still almost bearable when it isn’t,
Yet when it’s not —
I fester deep within myself,
Red with rage

And still I go on,
Not knowing how much more I can take,
Red, a vibrant red no longer

All that was is losing its luster,
I’m falling through a black veil,
Red no longer intertwining with passion

{I’m beginning to think I’m not in the clear}

I think everything is fine and I’m in the clear…

What’s best?
No one knows what’s best,
It changes depending on person and context
And even then—

How can we know what’s truly best?
Or even that what we think is best is really the best there is?
We can’t
And even then—

Who’s it best for?
For the victor or the victim,
The giver or the taker,
For both, everybody, one, or nobody
We don’t know
And even then—

We measure ourselves and each other to standards set as best,
But if more than one person exhibits these behaviours, who can we classify as the best?
How can we rally behind one person and leave the other in the dust without knowing who is best?
We can’t
And even then—

How is it best?
For the long run, the big picture
Or in the short run, the present?
We don’t know
And even then—

What’s best?
No one knows what’s best,
It changes depending on person and context
And even then—

—What is best?

Conflicting emotions ― it makes me laugh and weep at the same time,
Like a crazed wide-eyed person, mouth gaping, sobs waiting to fall from lips twisted into a sick grin
And all I can do is write this, my chest heaving from silent cackles ― or are they sobs?

I’m sure you mean the best for me,
One thing you must know, though,
Is that what's best for you is not for me
It comes and goes in threes, it’s said:
Third time’s the charm;
The third can be no harm, then?

It can also be said that it’s a double-edged sword, when all your hopes and dreams are placed on it,
Can the sword withstand the pressure when push comes to shove?

I’m no Excalibur, my might is untested,
My drive rages and cools, like steel under fire, morphing into its solid self;
However, sometimes, through the fault of no one, a sword can break in its making,
But then again, a forged sword could also be shattered

Is my sword to be sharp and victorious or is it doomed to become like the sword in the stone?
Something that could’ve been if only the right circumstance came.

No question has only two answers, not in perspective and not in something so broad;
To go or to stay,
To listen or to rebel,
To be passive or aggressive,
Ambivalent malevolence or benevolence
Resentment or gratitude?
As if!

Tell me now; is this a matter of trust?
Are you frightened that my sword may pierce you, ram you over, cut and maim you?
{Despite all my rage am I still just a rat in a cage?}
A true knight, though fearful he may be, continues the journey onward,
The definition of brave: to face danger in its path head on

One cannot stay here with constant hounding and no sense of space (mental or otherwise),
One needs peace of mind, only possible in hours of solitude when contemplation is achievable,
And yet that one heeds no warning, 

What shall be done when they look around them and suddenly realise all they’ve wreaked upon themselves and others?

What's best?

I like the pain,
The pain I feel.

The pain I like best is the one I make,
The pain I make is far better than feeling the pain of others,
Of their words and of their actions.

The pain I feel,
Makes it all real.
The pain I make,
Takes it all away.

I’d rather feel my own pain,
Make my own pain,
Taste my own pain,
Than feel theirs.

So yes, while sticks and stones
And words and actions hurt me bad,
It makes me mad.

How can you get to me so?
Why does it hurt?
This pain, oh this pain,
Woe is me, woe is me,
This pain is them.

I hate their pain,
Their pain I hate.

I love my pain,
I make my pain.

Red blood falling,
Or beautiful crimson flames?

My own,
Or theirs?

The pain I feel,
Makes it all real.
The pain I make,
Takes it all away.

I hate the pain,
I loathe it,
Abhor it.

I love my pain,
I adore it,
When I feel the paroxysms
That I make,
I weep, tears of joy or of madness?

I live for my burn,
Whilst I die by theirs.

They kept me in the dark,
And so it all began.

A fingermark here,
A nail there,
A pinch here,
A poke there,
A slap here,
A cut there.

A punch here,
A pull there,
A sob here,
A scream there.

A burn,
—The burn,
——It burns.

A push,
A fall,
A look,
A scar,
A puppeteer,
A marionette.
Who are we,
Who are they?

Ignorance,
Agony,
Bend,
Break,
Glass shatters.

Pain,
Without love,
Pain,
Without love,
Pain,
I can’t get enough,
Pain:
Pain, Pain, Pain.

The middle,
The end,
The beginning?

The pain I feel,
Makes it all real.
The pain I make,
Takes it all away.

So when I die,
Will you know why?
Will you cry,
As the life leaves my eyes?

Happiness?
Sorrow?
Anger?
Death.

The start,
The finish.
One Culprit,
A victim?

Alive—
            Dead.

            Regret?
                         —Nirvana.

The pain I feel,
Makes it all real.
The pain I make
The pain I make
Takes it all away.

The eyes…
They look,
They see,
They judge.

I see them all,
He does it,
She does it,
They do it,
Even I. 

What do they see?
What do I see when my eyes rest upon them?

Am I in the wrong?
Am I bad?
Am I too good it’s fake?

Why must we judge?
We are all one and the same,
With the same things,
Made the same way:
Either by the Creator or Creation.

The eyes,
They see,
They see too much.

The souls,
They judge,
Why must they judge? 

The eyes,
They look at us,
They look at things,
They make us judge,
Whilst they judge as well.

I wonder,
Oh how I wonder,
Why?

Why must we judge?

When we see the hate in their eyes,
The disgust, the scorn, the love, the fear,
When we know our eyes hold much the same.

What has it all come to,
When it’s now Man against Technology, Man against Society?
What shall we do when it’s Man versus Man, or Self versus Self?
What can we do?

How has it come to this?
The eyes, the eyes and the soul,
They know.
They must,
For they started it all.

Why must we judge?
Why must we look upon Man,
And see nothing but contempt?

Why can we not love all?
Why must we hurt,
Hurt others, hurt ourselves.

Why must we judge?
The eyes,
The eyes,
They see it all,
They know it all.
Or so they think?

What if it’s wrong?
What if it’s right?
What if it’s wrong and yet it feels ever so right?

What must we think?
What can we think,
When it’s not our choice or time to speak.

How can we have a right to find fault in others and judge,
When we find fault in ourselves?
No one is perfect,
Why must we act as if we were?

Why must we fight amongst ourselves?
It’s because of the eyes and what they see.

The eyes,
They see,
They see it all,
Or so they think. 

When families have been reduced to going against each other,
To fighting amongst one another,
What must we do,
What can we do,
When blood is no longer thicker than water?

The eyes…
They look,
They see,
They judge.

The eyes,
They see,
They see too much.

The souls,
They judge,
Why must they judge?

Why must we judge?