Canvas of the Soul

Smudged Glass

The fire is seemingly flickering,
As the last piece of wood litters the grass with ash,
I feel like an empty jar with tar stuck to the glass, grime and dirt plagues the lid,
Impossible to see in.
I'm nothing more than a plastic bag,
I can hold everything yet seem so useless,
A hindrance.
I could never portray anything inside my jar,
My only inability is to communicate,
Can never seem to regurgitate.
The point will never get across,
The bridge keeps falling, the concrete never fully dries.

I feel like a rat consuming poisoned cheese, insignificant to my peers,
Yet their opinions contrast to mine.
To them everything seems to benign.
I live in a violent battle of expectation and reality.
It's time to go out into the world with no jumper to shield me,
Only my initiative to keep me dry,

My soul can never be cleansed,
But I'll pick up the pieces and hold my head.
I'll never surrender to the forces of the deep blue,
For those around me wish to see me stand another day,
I rust and corrode but I plaster and paint it over.
Those who know my face and see the false glint in my eyes shall never know,
They shall never see the full picture, as the ink bleeds,
My shelf is filled with bottles of tears and screams,
Of anger and angst,
Of whaling and crying,

Perhaps one day the shell will succumb to the weight,
But I'll keep reinforcing the struts,
I'll always second guess myself.
I'll always wonder if I'm being dramatic,
Or if it's traumatic.

-

"To bottle up your grievances is to stand alone in a fight you cannot win. Allow your emotions to flow out, whether in word or in text. Whether today, tomorrow, or in the foreseeable future."