Say, how many times have I watched you die,
only to crawl back to me.
You think it's so easy, this forgiveness,
But I've been torn apart
a thousand times
so I can be the strength that you needed.
I'm done playing this part in your
There's the door,
see yourself out.
That literally just found its way onto a page as I'm sitting here in Lisa's kitchen, monster sitting. So I thought I'd share.
It feels like the ending verse of a song.
Honestly, it's not singularly focused. Most of my creative works never are. I see pieces of myself more than any external issues. I don't know. I like it though. Needs Amy Lee style vocals with a touch of rock edginess to it.
There's almost this feeling of a verbal exchange that takes place before the last verse. The previous verses were this one voice (person A), lamenting and pouring out this heart wrenching despair. Where the chorus is the other person (person B) trying to talk the first person off an emotional ledge (probably of their own making). And the last verse is person B talking to person A because its been one too many times. And person B needs to pick up their own pieces in order to survive and they can't do that if person A is constantly throwing this darkness out.
The more interesting part is it feels like one person. Just two very distinct parts. It works as two people, but I think it's more interesting as two voices inside of a single person.
This is often how I write. The words pour onto the page, physical or virtual. But there's always more of a story going on behind it. What led up to it, what is the viewpoint that may not be obvious. The backstories and pieces that make them more than just words.
Even the non-creative works when I'm ranting about this, that or the other thing, you miss all of it. That's my fault. Words only get you so far without a better context.
Take my previous post for example. There's the person who is sick of being submissive and fighting against it so very hard. "I'll make my own choices. They'll be mine and it's better that way." But only seeing that? You miss everything else. You miss why that voice came to the surface. The reason? Making decisions that impact only me and are for me do not satisfy. It's like clothing that someone puts on and at first it feels alright. Though the longer the person wears it, the more they look at it, the less happy they are. It doesn't look right there, and doesn't feel right here. Maybe that top of independence works well with the skirt of taking care of others, but it doesn't work with the pants of self-gratification.
I'm not sure any of this makes sense beyond my own mind. That's always my concern when I write here. With the creative writings, I can tell a story and paint a picture easier than with simple free writing. I put my emotions, my heart, my life, my soul into creative works. I think I keep a distance from that when I write here normally.
Something to work on. And if you made it all the way through, thank you. I hope there's a tiny bit of a clearer picture painted here today.