If I could be of noble character, of integrity and wisdom paired, how loved would I be for my perfection? But here I stand to be judged. For the lack of my prime judgement; for the well that runs deep to meet the overflowing source of the black tar that glides so gracefully through my thinning veins.

I find myself in awe of those who can stand boldly to say,

“I would never do such a thing”

How fortunate you must be. How lucky you are to not have to stand this that I bear every waking day, with the guilt that gratefully rides the tides of my mind. How lucky you are that this filth in me was not handed to you since the beginning of time and was instead shoved down my throat.

There is no grace from man sufficient enough to erase the sting from a wrong committed to them. There will forever be those silent judging eyes that will bore holes in the back of my skull until defiance sprouts a pair right there to stare back in calmness and declare an apology for the millionth time. There will be those not so silently whispered words between those who claim to love me saying, “Watch her do it again.”

And all they’ll do is just that… watch… in their judgmental silence. Until I slip up again and oh my didn’t they know? Didn’t they have to wait not too long as they imagined for this sequel?

No one wants to dive deep inside and plug shut the entry point of that tar that made a home for itself in the core of my spirit and blackens it bit by bit; darkening my resolve for change and the pursuit of a better self.

No one cares to follow the spring to the source and find out where it all began. To see for themselves who holds that flickering light in outstretched hands, laid carefully on soft open arms that belong to a man I never came to know. The man who was so violently ripped from my future. The one whose laugh, touch, scent and warm hugs were stashed away in a place thought to be safe, only to have the unstoppable and unchangeable course of time work on their decay.

Every second that I lost a bit of him, I lost a bit of myself.

My outcry has always been for someone to dig deep so they could see clearly what is on the surface. To look in my eyes and catch the sincerity of my “I am sorry,” those that have been found to be dismissive, lacking sympathy and empathy because it seems I just don’t learn and simply don’t care.

Dig deep and discover the truth for yours. Hear my pleading voice not for your attention, sympathy or pity but your discovery of me. Your journey begins by looking into my eyes.