Dressed in their summer clothes. I have to turn my head until my darkness goes.
It’s easy to give people what they want. You can smile, nod, say the right things, do the right things, but eventually doing what everyone else expects of you becomes the burden that no one can carry. The weight bends and bows more each day, but because you’ve carried it so long and so far, you don’t dare lighten your load. So when your foot slips, or you spill a bit, it’s such a surprise that the world wobbles for a moment. The whole world rests on that edge of crumbling and you fight to hold on tight.
I look inside myself and see my heart is black. I see my red door, I must have it painted black. Maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts. It’s not easy facing up when your whole world is black.
I’m good at pushing. Great at it, really. Strong arms from carrying things that I shouldn’t. Really, I know I shouldn’t. It is not my job to keep people happy, or to do things for everyone else before myself. But I do. I enjoy things that I feel that I’m good at. And when I’m not, I have two extreme responses. I either give up, or I go hardcore. So when I feel that I’m failing people, I go hardcore. I put my head down, and I find a way. But when I feel that I’m failing at something for me, or that I want to do well, I just give up. It’s easier to give up than to fail. Then it’s my decision rather than my lack of ability.
I see your red door. I want it painted black. No colors any more. I want them to turn black.
When I get hurt, I lash out. Sometimes it’s over something silly and stupid. Sometimes it’s something major, but happens just the same. From my experience, most people do that. When animals get hurt, they scratch back. Humans are nothing of not a perfect example of reactive animals. I want people to hurt the way I’m hurting. I want them to “Get Theirs.” But I suppose that’s just childish, isn’t it? But that’s our first reaction, isn’t it? Someone hurts us, we want Karma to fuck them hard.
No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue. I could not foresee this thing happening to you. If I look hard enough into the setting sun. My love will laugh with me before the morning comes.
I guess the question that I keep flipping, flopping, and pondering and pummeling and pounding and clawing and scraping in my head is just that. Which bit and piece of everything I’ve done is catching up to me this time? And is Karma really, actually, a balancing and retribution of the soul and actions, or is it a product of our self guilt and punishment?