Epiphany.

Discovering parts of me buried beneath years of neglect, dust covered heart rusty from disrespect. Empty for so long though I acted like I was full, spreading myself too thin, it's no surprise my soul craves attention. My ego prevented me from seeing the truth, facts that were as clear as starry nights in the country sky. Narcissistic exterior that refused to let me progress, excuses became the barriers that convoluted my fortress. I was the shepherd to a flock of sheep that were really scapegoats, blindly leading the blind, accountability could have been my antidote. Claimed to have no expectations but the demon inside me that would not be exorcised demanded forgiveness for its infatuation with lies. I pulled the veil further over my eyes and filled my ears with cotton that made me immune to others' pleas to be heard and not forgotten. Ignorance was so much easier than acceptance, I avoided every lesson that could have been my blessing. Escape became the only option that I considered, as any attempt to face the harshness of my existence had me embittered. Blame became the flames that ravaged my reason and I the skilled arsonist whose self-worth suffered third degree burns from his own treason. Death by firing squad armed with silver bullets would have even failed to penetrate the facade that I wore like a cure. I acted unconsciously always on edge and ready to attack, more than the most explosive chemicals in an unstable lab. I must accept my past now so that my present does not also slip through my fingers like sand. I will never taste a drop of success unless I address the remnants of the reality that I have repressed. No promises to please, inaction is my archnemesis. I will rescue my spirit and save it from the entity by which it has been possessed. It's time to remove the layers of bandages and learn to love the wounds now that I am naked and undressed.

Darkness.

There is a darkness inside me deeper than the Grand Canyon,
it yearns to be filled though almost nothing can.
Empty it remains, devoid of colour.
I know it's not a phase, this is who I've become.

Fell for everything, now nothing could make me stand.
Invested in it all, only to feel so second-hand.
Used by everyone, like the Earth stripped of its natural resources.
Blamed for all the heartbreak as though I am the apocalypse's horsemen.

Break ups and divorces filed under my name,
though all I really want is to feel the same.
My love is poison, the holy grail of death.
My sadness, an ocean, you cannot measure its depth.

Each whispered word becomes another promise that can't be kept.
I just want peace and happiness though my darkness will not permit it.
I am so lonely, the most deserted places even have more visitors.
My heart is stony, yet still brittle enough to easily break.

Harder and harder I search for a friend,
the quicker it becomes obvious that I was made to want for nothing.
Darkness is what defines me now as I wade in my own pool of gloom,
dreary as I write dear diary, right before I'm consumed by fear.

My cries for help unattended, so I sit and wait in vain,
anxiety overwhelms me as I let the darkness overpower me again.
Everything turns to black, as though ebony can only prevail.
Help me help myself and release the anchor weighing me down so that my ship can freely sail.

Misogyny.

Incongruent, incandescent, impolite as he took all he desired and then decided to reject it, slipping away into the night.  Such is the plight of our female counterparts sold into marriage like objects to be bargained with.  Females: though our mothers, sisters, daughters and nieces are solely seen for their beauty or measured by their usefulness.  This is patriarchal poison at play, whose toxins remain in society to this very day, as though the women that birth us are somehow weak and should be the cause for our own decay.  Centuries of subjugation have resulted in gender roles and norms that are as inconceivable as ogres and trolls.  Through conditioning at every level, girls grow into insecure women convinced that they are the devil.  Held hostage by semen which can only be supplied by male demons, at their behest; surprise, we suddenly become heathens.  In my ideal world, women would have the only power to decide their rights not the victims of misogyny disguised as religious doctrine.  The suffragettes accomplished some although chauvinists still hold the reins and write the laws, as they guffaw from the seats in city halls around the world, as though they can have any say in abortions or female reproductive organs.  Since the beginning of time man has had its hands in every purse, his voice heard whilst women were forced to whisper.  I demand an end to the injustice, imbalance will only continue if we do nothing and let it and then it will completely wreck us.

Baggage.

Sensitive to my environment, each change affects me like a sonic boom.
Try as I may to remain unchanged, I long to be as undetectable as a chameleon camouflaged to fit the background noise within a room.
Adaptability can be a gracious gift or a cancerous curse dependent on its antecedents.
Tension can be a landmine that exploded inside my head, the slightest exposure to it contains enough damage to poison me with lead and eradicate a lifetime of bliss.

Happiness is now only a fantasy as I have become destroyed by my apathy.
Sympathetic to others' needs though my own seem second-hand.
Misery is now the only magic carpet which I can ride through my wasteland.
Denial darkens every dream that I once had, now life is filled with despair.

Mind over matter cannot be achieved from thoughts that are comprised of idle chatter.
Anxiety eats at me as though my body is an incarcerated person's last lonely meal.
I arrived at the limit to your love, your heart became an empty vessel that refused to deliver leaving me unhindered.
I forgive you, all, a thousand times over knowing that it makes you smile though there is little room for me to remain inspired.

I forgive though every calculated move is remembered for an eternity; somehow each wound stubbornly insists on staying opened acting as a reminder that I was once broken.
My own empathy engulfs me and can sometimes be debilitating, my bleeding heart is endearing only when it's not revolting.
Each noise clamours inside me like atomic bombs and missiles dropped on me from unseen armies when I am really just desperate for silence.
As irritable as a sleeping dog barraged with children hounding it with rocks, when I blast off there's no bringing me back down to Earth.

I crave calmness like it is the antidote to the traffic jam terrorism that tries to stop me from staying afloat.
Each crash contains enough chaos to send me reeling again.
I spin aimlessly unknowing when I will stop but aware that it will destroy my sanity.
Every collision with its whiplash is accompanied with enough gasoline to create explosions that would be felt around the globe.

Every tremor can set me off as I am suddenly nearly drowned in tears from my created waterfalls.
I wear my abuse like a tattoo, one I never acquired on my own but cannot be removed.
This tattoo controls my life as I am reminded of it at the most inopportune times.
The devil's mark of scarlet letters would've been better preferred instead of this stain on my soul that can even make the worst of beautiful weather.

To discuss it or even allude to it makes me feel weak, like I seek pity yet this still remains the skyline of my humble city.
So I suffer in silence so as to not attract attention or be labelled as weak, although my mind contains many alleyways and streets that will never be seen or brought to light.
Darkness is their sole protection, some secrets, if repeated could make dynasties collapse and shut out the sun's light.