Ruffled pages of ink staining the tip of my index finger.
Men abused. Used.
Specks of blood crusted into the folds of their wrinkled hands.
Doors not opened. Assumptions falsified by the God that assumes no blame.
A couple of weeks ago I read an article in The New York Times about a group of mentally disabled men who had been abused at the hands of a turkey company (http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2014/03/09/us/the-boys-in-the-bunkhouse.html?_r=0).
When I read this article I felt an initial punch of disgust and sadness. Fast forward to that night when I retold the story to my sister.
Fingers grazing the curvature of a dusty armchair.
Holding close to an illusion.
the pale skin, kissed by the God that assumes no blame.
I started crying. I wasn’t able to contain my sadness. But it was more than despair, it was a lack of understanding.
I don’t understand why bad things must happen.
Now, I know I must seem naïve. But as I grow older the answer to this question doesn’t become clearer instead it always seems one step ahead of me.
Fingernails raking questions
Off the inside of my wrist
Pounding through blackness
The world sucks. It is busting with violence, abuse, and sadness. People are attacked by their own government. Aid sent to countries in need is used corruptly by dictators. Education is a privilege not a right.
This type of sorrow usually hits me at night.
Quiet whispers creep in
The ghosts follow
I wonder what I’m supposed to do. How can I change anything?
I write on this blog. I think about issues. I talk about issues. But what am I really doing with my life. Am I doing what I was made to do? Was I made to do anything? Is the goddess mad at me for not following a predestined path? (existentiall crisis ensues)
Thoughts pour out
Dripping like sap
Stopping the beat of a young heart
Dog eared pages
I wonder why some people’s top priority is finding a prom date an others is finding food?
Why am I given the privilege of being surrounded by a loving family while others are abandoned and ignored?
Things fall apart in my mind.
The crashing symbols of
Mother says when things seem to be falling apart they are really coming together.
I think that’s totally bullshit.