Warning: Depression, death, self-hate, loss.
I have some pretty angry things written from when… well, from when. I held onto my grief for a long time… still do, kind of. This is… sort of how that felt, as best I can put it.
Inspired by Gris, the mysteries of the ancient world, our lost magic, hope, longing, and my desperate desire to make this universe a place worth living in.
Something has been stolen from us Fragments scattered in our dreams Our tear streaked souls, crying out From a longing they cannot explain
Mortality That supposed inevitability that We are asked to accept as canon With our purposes served we Are to be discarded.
But are we so meaningless Fibers in the cosmic tapestry Forgotten soon after last breath Footnotes in other lives Half-remembered moments?
No.
We are so much more.
Passionate, or perhaps just a bitch
Full of broken glass and fire
Opinionated, vocal, unrelenting
A sprinkling of sex for flavor
A fiction, touching on truths
That I didn't mean to disclose
I remember my younger self
Knowing that I could never be enough
Perpetually dissatisfied, despairing
My unworthiness writ in every failure.
To she who struggled with despair
Who sought unattainable perfection
Trapped in a cycle of self-hatred
Looking for peace that would never arrive:
Listen
You have ALWAYS been enough
And you ARE worthy of love
Perhaps if I tell you then
Someday, I'll believe me too.
Evils once contained
Have broken free of their prison
And fascism, cruelty
Are ascendant, have risen
In mythology, heroes
Kept their darkness at bay
But reality's crueler
Complacency created these days