The Battle Call
You want to surrender to the dream world but somehow you can't. Your mind is racing through wind tunnels because somehow you've fallen on this channel. The grey static electric haze that seems to spread through your body and has dragged your mind down to where you cannot find it.
Maybe it's fear, maybe it was that open mouthed surgical whim of emotion that has got you turning somersaults, in a hoop for show and the feeling that perhaps, someday, the clock will stop and you will fade.
It's those thoughts that scare you. They frighten you worse than when you were a kid and there were tissue monsters hidden under the magic cavern you called your bed.
It frightens you more than being friendless, more than having your heart ripped out of your chest. More than the tears that seem to fall from your eyes, hitting your body continuously.
You're always falling prey to the dark. A smile that is continuous. That never seems to fall off your lips. Perhaps it's become your armor.
So you say things sometimes. Words laced in the sort of profundity, you find only in those philosophical quotes. The ones spoken by some dead guy, that you don't really understand but you quote it anyway just to sound 'intelligent'
Because a long time ago, someone took one look at you and declared that you were the stupidest child in the class.
See, you think about these things more often than you should and how there is nothing beautiful about scars. How there is nothing beautiful about broken. And no, you don't want to pray your shame away.
How did the mirror become so cruel?
Maybe it happened when you realized that your skin, was made of molecules. Tiny spaces lying in between each and you would pick them apart and wash them away, Just so for a moment, your soul could be exposed. Just so your spirit could actually breathe.
It's the way, emptiness feels like you're soul has been sucked into a vacuum cleaner and you can never find enough air. How loneliness feels so grand that you can only find reflections of yourself in images of war torn lands. And you'd much rather stand tall than admit that inside you're a tiny piece of explosive debris.
And you smile often and loud, not to be friendly, not because your nice but because if there's one lesson you've learned its that emotion was never meant to be felt. That true emotion was meant to be stifled. That emotion was never meant to be expressed. It was meant to be wine pressed.
Night has become your closest friend and you wonder if there will ever be a day, where your heart won't sink so heavily. Until then you are an incarcerated fiend. Your prison, the truth of your existence and the knowledge that you will never be able to be free. A prisoner bound to time and matter and a heart that is Resting in Pieces
But today you stood so strong. You realized that your legs were really just the staunch roots of a tree and you planted them so deep in the earth, just so you would not move. And when the whole world lined you up for target practice, with a string of bullets in their hand, you turned your flesh into a bullet proof vest of confidence. You opened your arms wide, as if you were attempting to embrace this contemptible force.
And you looked that enemy straight in the face as if to say, these arms have already felt the kiss of your lips death and I would surrender to you fear, only I am too busy being a child of God right now and for that reason, you have no place here.
Melodic Rose is a spoken word artist from Montreal, Canada. She Believes that true poetry comes from artistic and emotional vulnerability and at the heart of it, should reflect the distinct voices and nuances of the human experience. You can find her on twitter: @Melodicrose1 or follow her blog at melodicrose1.wordpress.com