Confession Tapes.

Today and only today,
I agree, I’m choosing to explore,
What it’s like to feel the tremors and do it anyway.
I’m willing to make room for more.

Tonight and only tonight,
I’ll confess, I’m scared.
It’s true that I’ll voluntarily fight,
For a connection that remains undeclared.

This moment and only in this moment,
I’ll admit that I waltz around the concept of fate,
Being the single unifying component.
As I pop my ego and watch it deflate.

A.

Just Afraid.

You try to be the best I’ve ever had,
But that doesn’t take much effort.
You don’t know that,
And I’ll never mention it.
Not my experience with abuse,
Not the insecurities bound to oxygen, flowing through my veins.
I’m afraid you’ll be inspired,
Afraid you’d come up with new methods of breaking my heart,
Tearing me down,
Stripping me of my self worth.
Like I’ve had with those that came before,
Like I’m used to.

A.

You Write Because You Can’t Speak.

Have you ever had so much to say,
You settle for silence?
Because your hearts is too full,
And your thoughts too complex,
To relay on to the simple minded.
And so, the weight of your words,
Rest heavy on your tongue.
It’s impossible to lift.
Impossible to speak.
You are hushed by your own mind,
Verbally crippled by your own thoughts.
Afraid of how much dept you may go into.
How many tables could be shook?
How many elders brought down to their weak knees?
How much tears would be shed?
Because even though words are just words,
They cut deep.
Into a realm that only exists in some people’s reality,
So only they comprehend,
And only they are consumed by emotions,
The type you feel when surpressed memories resurface.
You know this because you felt it.
So rather than speak, you write.
Convincing yourself that it carries less weight.
But those are lies that you would some day cry about.

A.

Solitude.

Solitude doesn’t ask what’s wrong,
She lets me be.
She doesn’t reach out,
Or hold me when I’m down.
When emotions get the better of me,
And I’m left in a puddle of my never ending tears,
I don’t feel solitude looking at me through pitiful eyes.
She doesn’t pat my back like they do with helpless kids.
There are no constant echos of generic words intended to encourage,
No tight hugs rendering me fragile.
So I don’t feel shame,
Not like I do in her absence.
But my solitude eats me up,
More often that I care to admit.

A

These Nights

There are nights where I fall,

Back into a state of depression.

On those nights, I can barely crawl,

Because I am crippled by my own transgression,

Judged by weak bodies of power who have no real jurisdiction,

Only knocking you down so it looks like they are standing tall.

But before I receive my final verdict, I urge you to answer me this last question,

Is it okay to have you replenish this cup of sickening alcohol?

As on these nights, Theres nothing I want more than an induced infarction.

Love,
A
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