| Tuesday, November 8, 2011
what else would that fear be if it wasn't fear of failure?That the girl so stubborn in her belief would hide away in the dust,
dust allergy, allergic to those particles of dead skin and fluff,
yet she burrows so willingly in,
fear does funny things to people.
The language of my ancestors,
but in this day and age whoever still cares about the past?
In this frenzy of new shining change,
the days of the old belong in that dusty corner of sadness.
Yet it is in this corner she crouches.
There should be a balance to everything,
a surfeit of the sweetest things the deepest loathing to the heart brings
yet the girl cannot, doesn't want to, cannot achieve this balance.
Sometimes she thinks she was not made for this world.
Not a proud statement, but one of sadness.
So quickly everything changes, no room for those who are not the best.
What do you do when you are expected to be the best but you cannot?
When the unspoken hopes for you are dismissed with a "Just do your best" but you know that even in the small chance that they really do not care, the world cares.
Only a select few can ignore what the world thinks,
and the child was never meant to be one of the chosen few.
So the child runs away from the knives,
hiding, burrowing under the comforting layers of dust.
This is a cycle that should not be continued,
For the more she hides the more the dust swallows and refuses to let go,
the beckoning of the sunshine weaken and then fade as faith in her is lost,
yet the child doesn't know what to do,
so she sticks with what she knows.
Perhaps that will be where she dies.
the purple piggy oinked 7:37 PM
