How it hits, I don't know. It's not just the melody and the words. They come like an uninvited demand on my life, stealing away the kind of joy that only lasts moments. How is it that a song haunts my life that I cannot drive the pain in my ligament away? Tonight, i wish i had none of these burdens, that I may travel light, pack myself into a suitcase, stored away and only spring to life when convenience calls.
Yet i am more than that. Yet, the voice that cries on behalf of the hurting is the very poison that stings. God have mercy on me. What ransom have you placed on my life that the heavy weight drags my feet now? What are you doing in the centre of this chaos? Is this your way of answering our common prayers? Why do you stubbornly push me to the edge time and time again? Are you not concerned that you might lose my grip? Does it not hurt you that I might derail this highway? Will you not budge when the waters rise and my spirit willfully tests your patience? If you are my father, if you love me, go easy on my pacemaker. I don't trust myself and you shouldn't give me too much credit. For why do you surround me with philosophers to call me to your presence when your presence brings the very absence of company and common ground?
Where are the feet that fill these shoes if common unity is what you intended? What is the meaning in the art of your contradictions?
There's a picture of an empty dressing room tucked away inside an overcrowded stadium. What joy is there to be in a room full of glitter but distant and alone? No tears can ever explain away the depth of the pain. No money can ever buy the medication necessary. No achievement can ever replace the skin graft, the deep tissue, the familiar scent that reminds you of home and a safe place to call family.
What good is it to be on top of the world with no one around?
I will have none of it. I will die a thousand deaths to hang tight on this stupor and squalor. I'd give away all my wealth, my intellect, my credentials, all the miles and storehouses of blueprints and plans. For I would rather be ashes to dust than be without meaning and love. What is another 10 years, what is another 20 years, what is another lifetime? I know I can't win you in this struggle, but you know very well you made me this way and this is how stubborn I am. I will twist your arm even if it breaks mine for good.
So what if you burnt my fingers? I'm already in the eye of your perfect chaos.
For I have come to turn “‘a man against his father, a daughter against her mother,
a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law— “Anyone who loves his father or
mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves his son or daughter
more than me is not worthy of me;" - Mat. 10:35,37
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