A day dream lived. Site Meter

function EntryPage::print_entry(Entry e) { }

Log in

No account? Create an account
Heartbreak Detroit - A day dream lived. [String|Data|Nodes|Dossier]

[ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ]
[ archive | journal archive ]

[Links:| Matthew Kowalski Author Page My Zazzle Printed Books Luminosity Pinterest Luminosity Author Profile Good Reads ]

Heartbreak Detroit [Jan. 22nd, 2013|11:38 pm]
Who are you my heartbreak, and where have you gone?
I see you on the other side of a mile that marks a strain a tension.
Why can't you be resolved my heartbreak, their is no shade or color that crafts you, be the blackest black and I will love you, be the whitest white and I will love you. 

I can't see why we can't see ourselves in the faces of others, because underneath all of our skins our hearts break.

We are all standing on the heavy edge, fighting the melancholy and the twilight of our lives.
Trading flesh and lotto tickets for dollars.

Their flesh is not their own, it is my flesh and it lacerates, and abraids, to the touch of the grating sands.

Even the lady of the night is no prostitute, she is a mother, a daughter a sister.
If we do not love her in this state we never loved her at all.

People are more than the sum of their pains or perceived needs.
Life is valuable for it's mere existence, as are those elements that are far less actives and the forms that would define them.

We are not worth less when we are confused, hurt, maimed, tortured, tormented, harmed, raped, mistreated, neglected.
We have the same value as we did in the beginning when they all declared us innocent.

I have questioned our innocence. I know cruelty, I have been cruel, I know ignorance, and I still don't know.
Asking questions, out of curiosity and seeking in the middle of the night to understand, to understand why people hate themselves so much.

I know why I have hated myself, the indignant sting of unresolved feelings, knowing that their is still more to do.
Knowing that everyday I fight is a good day, not because the battles do not hurt, not because their are scars left all over my soul.
It's the pain the cross, the thorns, my own cross my own thorns, my own anger, the inability to cope.

Jesus can't carry my cross no one ever has been able to, this cross is my own to bier, and I do it with the strength that I have and that I am granted.

Seeing the ceaseless worlds of pain, and knowing why so many cover it up, with the makeup of drugs, and so many other things.
It seems to make us look good but the makeup only covers the pain.

Maybe the pain exists because we don't feel like we can be the people we are.
They let their skins fly into the winds as black crows cawed and counted the stars in the skies as drops of blood that hit the floor, in their last breath.

That person was beautiful, that person, hated themselves because they where spooned hate from baby jars.
The hate was to hate the gays, and the man was gay, and the man was beautiful, now the man is dead.

My family told me about humans that I should hate because of the color of their flesh, so I asked a man who's flesh was black as the night.
Why should it be so?
He answered my question with a threat of violence, but by not acting violently showed me a kindness.
I would think for a long time on the words of hate, and then I knew why the words pained that beautiful man so.
As I went to a church in the south with the help of a stranger I saw picture of children that where lynched, and I cried, and I still cry.
This boy did not have a life to live, and for all of the other injustices that he would have seen in his life he never had a chance to see it.
He never had a chance to live, the boys name invariably is the same name of my friend that died to nature.
Nature stole him early and nature taught me how short and precious this is, this now, this chance, this hope, to smile on you.
Because we need each other no matter what we tell ourselves, or others tell us.

Our strength is not simply our own, it is with grace, that I live, because so many times this life has stilled in this body, into the last breath.
Their was no light their was an empty darkness, yet I am still so faithful, because we are built on faith and their is nothing left as we peel it all away. This gives us a beautiful chance to make this life our own, and this meaning our own, as we craft and create ourselves from the world we choose and the world we where given.

I have known women who could not speak of their pain, and their neglect.
We feed them the seed of hate in every add, we feed them the hate, and then leave them alone.

We create our own suffering in our neglect for one another, and we are taught that this is good that this is natural.
Maybe it is, but maybe through our mutations through our differences, while we may be animals.
We may not have to choose to be one, and even when we are over taken by our baser selves and we ourselves see the face of the beast within moving and choosing something in our own interest.

Somethings are in more than one state at the same time to do one thing to help one is to harm another.
So we weigh and measure, and maybe they could help themselves but maybe they won't or can't.
Maybe we help them then because their is nothing left to do, maybe we all fall down.

She was beautiful who they fed these pains and vanities, who through a spoken word you harmed.
No intention and no purpose and we are taught so very little, where are we when we need each other most.

Nature takes us and beats us and batters us, and we do the rest, we do these things in the name over power, in the name of control, but the world knows nothing of your power or your control.

When the storm comes or the fire comes, to wipe it all away, the illusions rush over us as the fires and the waters and our very base trembles.
The safety and the lies fall away and apart.
We those left standing are the aftermath, what is left when it falls apart.

We can be the love that we need, if we love ourselves first, but we cannot love just ourselves for we fail our task and test, of what is the value of ourselves without deciding to value the other. By valuing them those who are all around us, the flowers, the trees, the sunshine, the elements and forms we can find our world in such a state of wealth that none might deny it.

I have seen your hidden strength in your tears and actions for what is right not your ignoring your insufferable ability to eat orders and become them. Our strength is not what we are fed, but what we might choose, if we where only to seek and fight for our wisdom, for our enlightenment, so that we might firmly give our hands to others that might be ready to take it and climb with us.

So in my heartbreak, I find a golden yellow flower waiting in the concrete waste, seeking your to see yourself in it.
The strength resilience and hope, in the flower grown in the concrete, or a tree on the side of the most rocky mountain.

It will remind us of our own strength as we might stare into their strength.


(Deleted comment)
[User Picture]From: luminosity
2013-02-12 09:59 pm (UTC)
Thanks for the laudation.
(Reply) (Parent) (Thread)