My Self Ballad (Fairly Long A Story)

As I sit here a single candle flame reaches its dancing hands up into the shadows. Illuminating the small aurora I need to write. Alone accompanied only by the din that goes on outside of me. A dull sound falling on deaf ears. Alone. How I often find myself, physically and mentally. My head aches with congestion. I have yet to find the error in my ways. What makes me to others, odd. It isn’t horrible, they say, but it still stabs me. Stabs me again and again, like the sharp point of an ancient sword. Never failing to plunge itself into my ever bleeding heart. Is it that I have no one to call my own? No one to reach out to in time of peril? Latch onto to show me the way. No one to help me up when I fall. I fear that if I shall fall again, I will have no chance of getting up. No guiding light to show me the way. It strikes me as comedic the way people assume. For I have said nothing, yet people believe with their ears. There is a draft in my cell, yet the windows are closed and the fan blades lie still. A strange foreshadowing of my life, a mere glimpse I see behind my closed lids. Frigid breath escapes my lips as ashen fingers grip the pen.  Forever I shall be kept wondering, as my thoughts dance in the firelight. I fear I shall be alone for eternity. I wonder how I earned the right to be alone. How I compared to others, have not a single thing to worry about. How they all tell me not to worry because everything shall be resolved, as soon as the sun peeks its head over the clouds in the east. I’ve heard from one, that I’ve had my chance. Though, I wonder where it went for I have missed it.  Is she telling me that I will never have another? If this tale brings true then life is not worth living. Why should I grace the earth with my now worthless presence, if I have no one to share it with? What joy will it bring me to solve everything for everyone else? To see all their chances that they take for granted. Just once I would like to have one of my own. It is true that no one understands. How could they? Twisted in the bleeding mass of my heart and soul there it lies. For yet again there is no one there who wishes to unearth it. For there was that one and only time that someone dared to dig it up. And so they did, however not giving it a second thought. They dared not conquer it. Thus is where I am now. The bleeding, twisted mass of my heart and soul, lying on the floor. Suffocating, it cannot breathe. For there is no one who cares enough to help it. All the same, passing it by without a second glance. There must be a sign posted on my back, “Warning she bites” for people are wry. To touch the untouchable. I shudder at the thought.  Must be people are satisfied with the outside of myself, no intention of digging any deeper. Maybe tis not what is wrong with people, but what tis wrong with myself? Maybe tis the fact that I can’t have what I want.  Thought I do not ask for much, and I’ve wanted it for quite some time. Seeing someone else so obsessed makes me want to vomit. Brings me back to Courage Built the Bridge but Jealousy Knocked it Down. High on my ladder for years I have built it up. My bridge of resiliency, of not caring what people think. The bridge is what keeps me going. For I cross over it hundreds of times in a single day. I don’t like to think about how it would be without it. Now, I feel as though the bridge is getting old. The same old bridge that has helped me over the water for so many years is starting to wash out from under me. For one I am not jealous of, I feel her jealous of me. Though everyday I feel myself taking a little piece out of my bridge. I fear one day I may take out one stone too many, and the water will rush right in. It’ll envelop me on my way across. Then where would I be? Feeling the familiar twist from the sword in my heart. Sending my oh, so sweet blood spilling out in torrents on the floor. There I would lie, immersed in a pile of pink water. Cared about enough as yesterday’s trash. For this is where I am now. Alone in a puddle of my own blood and water, a puddle of my own self-pity. All there is left to do is lie here and pray someone comes along. For now there is no hope for me to get up. My soul open, bleeding on the floor suffocating from lack of love. I feel as if it is my own fault; as so many people have tried to help me up, sew me back together. There has been no permanent fix, and I don’t know where to go from here. Thus I leave you to think. Though I warn you, there is not much time. If I do not get up off the ground soon, loneliness will envelop me into its shadows. You must hurry before it is to late. I call out to you, my voice hoarse and raspy. For I know you are out there. I will wait for you, here alone. Yet again I must warn you, my heart is suffocating. I don’t know how much longer I can go on breathing by myself. For I need someone to put breath back into my lungs, pull the sword out of my heart, conquer the beast of my soul, and share my life with. I ask you all that read this ballad to stop for one second and think. Is it you that a young heart desires? Is it you that has the heart to build a new bridge? Build a bridge with me together. A bridge that is indestructible. A bridge that will bring joy to anyone that crosses over it. A bridge that rises up into the heavens. A bridge that cleanses trouble hearts. A bridge that brings me to you…Me that's me. That's me inside. This has been my most private writing I have ever written. This is me, exaclty what I am... Written November 13th, 2001 © on Nov 13 2001 12:46 PM PST   0 • 1