Rage

I came a long way, Lord. I’ve always been an adult; I grew up so fast, with my mother ‘sickness, with no time to play. I was aware of Life because I was aware of Death, soon. I saw myself lost, but all was not lost. I stood up and walked further, past the black hole, past the monster, past death itself. I walked in the darkness, loved the darkness, embraced the darkness. But I finally closed the cycle and went back to the beginning; I walked back to myself, to my own heart that I was lucky enough to have forged in light. I came from light and to light I returned. I walked asking why? Every single step I asked why? Why things are the way they are, why am I the way I am, why was I given this body, this mind this spirit that never stops asking, demanding, requiring, thirsty for Life, desperately in search for an answer.
I’ve been creating the person I am, with the help of god and all the human beings that have been beside me above me and beyond me, before and after me. My roots and my skies are made of people, dead before me, born before me; and I’ve been listening to the whispers of all the ones that yet have to come. These crowds of possible people are my guiding lights, they will always be. Right. I will always listen to the voice within of unheard humanity that creates catacombs for our secret power. There is so much more to discover about the human race.
It happens to me, often times, to be so ashamed, so deeply ashamed for the waste of humanity I have to be part of, I’m looking at all those lost souls fed, fat and numb. I have so much rage, so much pain, so many doubts and questions, and so much heart that sometimes I’d just like to explode in the sky and create a new constellation, where every single soul can shine of its own light instead of being wasted and never recycled. I am still here, Lord, walking in this perfect imperfection, in this momentary moment. Wondering. And my only true lesson is to forgive, to learn how to look at myself and forgive myself, for all my mistakes, for all my ugliness, for all my flaws, for all the corners of my personality that are sitting so comfortably and numb. I have to ask for forgiveness and I have to forgive. I will be on stage, with all the shining lights, with all the attention, with all the make-up and the pretty dresses, only to beg for forgiveness.
I’m arrogant and aggressive, I’m impulsive and I’m impatient, and I’m violent, and I’m enraged and I’m strained and I’m worst; say it worst! Here I am! Look at me, Life. Look how my eyes are burning of a fire that will never stop screaming.
I am a naked nerve, tense on life. In search of my own tune of my own voice.
I am unapologetic and sorry.
With yet, nothing to say.
Me

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