Midnight Thoughts
Stories trickle from the heart, Landing as droplets against a soft cheek.
What a struggle it has been to find
The proper words to use to enunciate such painful emotions.
So many times I have begun, yet ceased before reaching a proper end.
Is it the inability to state the truth, even to myself?
Why define hypocrisy when my inner struggle says it all?
So many thoughts are to be had now in the midnight hour, sleepless nights now abound.
Why do I continue to fight the malignant entity inside my head,
telling me to fall to my knees?
To this, I have no answer except a hope of a greater purpose.
As the strength of my will buckles under the fearsome attacks of depression,
Self-doubt slips through the cracks.
Where is the beauty that they see in me?
I see real beauty, the true “American Standard,” that is beauty. Not I.
Perfect imperfection is not a thing when the body is not merely imperfect.
And what of that smile I crave? Where has it gone?
Has my grimace I now permanently wear frightened it off?
I know it has. Still, it’s nice to see it when it faces a real, true standard.
Is physical pain supposed to accompany emotional torment so closely?
Besides the scratches, the welts, the tears, what is this aching in my chest?
Is it just me forgetting to breathe back in after the silent, body-rattling sob, or is it my heart continuing to slowly break into a thousand pieces?
What of this constant migraine?
The pounding behind my eyes? I can only think it to be either my poor sinuses,
or my mind trying to break from the prison
from which it is constantly being tortured within.
This stabbing in my stomach these days which hinder my appetite,
Is is simply the stomach flu
Or my stomach in knots from
All the lies?
I’m surprised how few people have noticed this torment I face.
That mask of a smile I wear, I must wear it quite convincingly for them to believe I’m “tired” all the time.
How few people have stopped to notice when I cry.
When my barriers crack and all I feel flood my system is the hate and failure and worthlessness I feel directed at my own.
Then I always think, always the concluding thought; what does any of this matter?
Tomorrow will be no better, the sun will ride and set, time will pass.
I will forever feel as I do now. So why wait for a chance to hope?
These midnight thoughts are choked;
the small voice of my broken will shouts out to the negative evils, we are not done yet with this life.
Tomorrow is the beginning of possibilities.
Now is the end of the torment.
