| "Hush, my love. You know I care for you." See the world, its people. How they are dying. Drowning... So far deep in their shame, they go. I have been an open wound most my life, and the many different shades of red the color Blood can take. My, it is astounding. I feel the pain of others run secular, acidic in my veins and I wonder still, if I unconsciously welcome it. Because secretly... Do we really know one another? In our moments of laughter, of free-fall into the wonder. And play, the way we do Lightly. Roughly. Cruelly... Or have we spent a lifetime creating alluring, enticing masks to fall in love with? Have you ever ripped off another person's mask without their consent? To hear their shriek of horror, as they desperately scramble to put back the broken pieces of their face together? Or to witness, The sweet vulnerability of when someone's mask comes falling off because it no longer fits the frame of what lies beneath. Someone being born anew. I always wondered if the secrets are all exposed during that one, biting moment of release. When only moments before, the body writhes with desire and need. Like a serpent, primal and thick, how it wraps itself around the heart and oh, the swelling ache of the way it suffocates its host. Is that why those wanting to hide, seal their eyes shut tight upon that peak, in all its sexual fervency, a slave of fear and shame? While still, others eyes bear into yours deeper. Desperately wanting to be known. These are the quiet things that are ignored. Like the whisperings of tragic promises, "tell me you love me" means really, "tell me you are Mine." But where there is devotion, there is no room to possess. Is this love? When we all once shared the earliest memory of bearing our ugly, perverse faces to the lover, to have them spurn on us with disrespect! ..."you know I love your scars when I place my mouth over them to kiss the memory of pain away." A pain that is not mine to bear. And for how many years have I done that? Witnessed the tears of others who wept in shame. How can I reject the shame in you, that exists the shame of its same kind in me? But I cannot anymore, allow it to cling to me, begging for it to be sheltered by pity. Whatever you carry, is your own to let go. You want to be closer to me, then face yourself all these secrets that breathe you the choices of daily strife. Let this shame breathe a little, you will see.. In honesty, what exists is only beauty |
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