If I could talk to my younger self i'd tell her, "hey so you don't like your name in the future. Oh, and your so-called friends are ******* pieces of ****... and you're all alone, but you don't mind, ok, oh, and we are pretty stupid smart, and I mean stupid yet smart." image by scratch
My face was always set in gentle curves A pleasant welcome that my spirit serves. I offered smiles like sunshine on the pane, Expecting kindness to return again. I thought the openness within my chest Was something others truly sought to test With honest bonds, a trust both deep and true, So when they asked, I readily said, "You. " That single asking for a friendly tie, Brought forth a shadow looming in the sky. The service started, small at first, then vast, My helpful nature suddenly outclassed. I cleaned their messes, ran their hurried needs, Planting their triumphs, sowing only seeds Of obligation in my fertile ground, Where true affection never could be found. A servant dressed in garments of a friend, A role I played until the bitter end Of my delusion, when the mirror showed The heavy weight of burdens I had towed. The realization struck with sudden chill, This wasn't sharing, standing on a hill Together watching sunsets fade to gray; This was just taking, day by endless day. My heart, once open, shattered on the floor, I saw the ghosts of every friend before. The echoed words of loyalty and care, Were hollow sounds that vanished in the air. A pattern broken, etched in crimson pain, I swore I would not suffer this again. No more the easy mark, the soft retreat, I gathered up the pieces of defeat. Now silence meets their hopeful, reaching hand, A fortress built upon the shifting sand Of yesterday’s misplaced and foolish trust, Now turned to ashes, turning back to dust. They gather now, their voices full of pique, They call me cruel, they whisper I am weak In spirit, though my strength is newly wrought, For all the battles that my soul has fought. "Why are you distant? Why this sudden frost? " They ask the price of everything they lost. "Why do you speak with edges sharp and cold? " A story that they never wished told. I watch them tremble, see their worried glance, As if I’ve broken some established dance. And I respond in tones they now recall As chilling echoes bouncing off the wall. "Villains," I tell them, looking straight ahead, "Are not conceived within a natal bed. They are constructed, brick by painful brick, By hands that push until the soul grows sick. " "You wanted me to bend, and so I broke, And from that fracture, something new awoke. You all will pay the dues you left behind, For every kindness that you failed to mind. " "I am the consequence, the debt that’s due, The harvest ripened from the seeds of you. I am the turning tide, the closing gate, I am your karma, sealed by bitter fate. "
