Rosedreams.net

Do you know that I still remember,
                       how you used to tear the moon down every night and wound the sky so that the dawn would match your bloodshot eyes?
                    Or how you caged me and begged me to sing the most beautiful song?
          {But I couldn’t.}

Did it even matter to you that I was not a fairy tale?
That days were thieves and tornadoes kings?

And though you dismiss the past and bury the memories under withered plants in our garden, though you purchase new truths and new faces, I can still see the washed bloodstains and the cracks on the walls.
…

& the days go by. & people walk on the streets; they pass right next to us, but never see us. They talk to us, but never really listen. Sometimes they say things like “get over it” and “look ahead”. & I ask: “Get over what?” and “look ahead for what?” You haven’t heard a word I said, have you? No.

& there is silence again.

I shouldn’t be telling you this. I shouldn’t be writing these lines. They are the truth – every word of them. But the truth doesn’t set you free anymore. Nobody says it anymore. We construct our own world of only the things we can face and remove those than can hurt us – in any way. We remove words like poverty and madness and pain and ugliness and even real beauty; and keep pretending they are not there like pretending is enough. But I’ve been through so much and seen too much and maybe you can, but I cannot be silenced any longer. I can see the repulsion in your eyes as I speak loudly – for everyone to hear me. I shout that I am not ashamed of the truth, because I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of; and poverty and ugliness and pain and illness and madness and despair and struggling are nothing to be ashamed of – while hatred, and indifference and selfishness and narrow-mindedness – those are things to be ashamed of. Not getting your head up and facing the sun without any fear, being dishonest and laughing at those weaker than you, that’s what you should be ashamed of. Illness and poverty are not a shame and most did nothing to deserve them. And yet they have to lie and hide their faces. But I’m looking straight at you. And I’ll keep saying this until I can no more. They will stop me, I know. And I wonder, don’t they have anything better to do? I wonder when did everything go so wrong?