I kind of hate myself. Because I'm not perfect and I make mistakes. I kind of hate myself because I look around and see people I look down upon and they have the simple lives I desire.
I wish that I could forget everything and just be another drop of rain in the storm of life. I hate that I cannot feel less than the bright sky illuminated by the Sun yet hidden by the darkness of turmoil; consumed in the process of opposing forces clashing on an epic scale within me(as I am the morosely elucidated sky). I hate that it is so much easier to pity myself to death with insignificant trivia than it is to exalt myself into the Heavens of consciousness. The World loves me, despite how it curses me when the rain drains the warmth from the air or how my translation of sunshine scars and torments a secular sense of comfort or how when I darken with unpleasing forebodingness, none stand and rejoice that I still fight the good fight but that it is displeased with my unpleasantries.
When I become infected with a virus, darkness absorbs the light, cold greedily laps up the heat, discord reigns within my system never to have a true victor. Perpetuated by the symptoms of dynamic determination, inimitable presence and clear deference to direction, there is only two choices and the conflict is automatic.
I am flawed as you are, World. I am but a small part of you yet I feel cast off as fecal matter. Disregard for the pains of my torment, the simple fact that I am a mere reflection of your productivity. I would yield no such descriptions if it was not for your generosity; I would have lesser an importance if it were not for your creativity and perseverance. I am not ungrateful for your love or charity. But as your plants need Sun, water and Earth, I need more than chagrin and disdain. Place in my great being your hopes and aspirations so that my emotional nature isn't merely acknowledged when I am at my worst. Give me the fullest extent of your affinities and affections when time does not permit, when it is the hardest and there is no reason to love me at all. Please, World, Love me through my weakness so that I may grow strong yet again and rise to be the lion that you desire me to be. Bring me to be your King over and again. Respect my Heavens, admire my many halos. Peer into the limitless depths of my darknesses to know that I will ALWAYS bring you the light. That is my job. To protect and serve for you are my World and I, your Sky. Breathe me in; respire me. I can never not love you.
I wish that I could forget everything and just be another drop of rain in the storm of life. I hate that I cannot feel less than the bright sky illuminated by the Sun yet hidden by the darkness of turmoil; consumed in the process of opposing forces clashing on an epic scale within me(as I am the morosely elucidated sky). I hate that it is so much easier to pity myself to death with insignificant trivia than it is to exalt myself into the Heavens of consciousness. The World loves me, despite how it curses me when the rain drains the warmth from the air or how my translation of sunshine scars and torments a secular sense of comfort or how when I darken with unpleasing forebodingness, none stand and rejoice that I still fight the good fight but that it is displeased with my unpleasantries.
When I become infected with a virus, darkness absorbs the light, cold greedily laps up the heat, discord reigns within my system never to have a true victor. Perpetuated by the symptoms of dynamic determination, inimitable presence and clear deference to direction, there is only two choices and the conflict is automatic.
I am flawed as you are, World. I am but a small part of you yet I feel cast off as fecal matter. Disregard for the pains of my torment, the simple fact that I am a mere reflection of your productivity. I would yield no such descriptions if it was not for your generosity; I would have lesser an importance if it were not for your creativity and perseverance. I am not ungrateful for your love or charity. But as your plants need Sun, water and Earth, I need more than chagrin and disdain. Place in my great being your hopes and aspirations so that my emotional nature isn't merely acknowledged when I am at my worst. Give me the fullest extent of your affinities and affections when time does not permit, when it is the hardest and there is no reason to love me at all. Please, World, Love me through my weakness so that I may grow strong yet again and rise to be the lion that you desire me to be. Bring me to be your King over and again. Respect my Heavens, admire my many halos. Peer into the limitless depths of my darknesses to know that I will ALWAYS bring you the light. That is my job. To protect and serve for you are my World and I, your Sky. Breathe me in; respire me. I can never not love you.
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