I'm not afraid. Well, that's a lie.
You take a deep breath and you wonder, "Am I doing this right? Am I living right?" There are some parts too sacred to be shared, too hard. It's a wrestle with a desire to be shared but a fear to be seen. We, a generation that picks on the towering standards of the past, have standards of our own that we seem ignorant to. One will say that life is a battle, another will say it is simply a journey. Perspective. Ideals. Opinions. Life. Is there ever a wrong? Has there ever been a right? We live in a world full of terrorism and shame, fear cutting to the core of nations; it is a world yet still of wonder, a world a child somewhere out there still views as clear skies that rain of droplets of cool and strangers that could be friends. Isn't wonderful that this child has sees the parts we no longer see? Isn't it sad that this child's views will soon change drastically?
Burn, burn, I yearn to see it burn. Yearn, yearn, I wish it would learn. Learn, Learn, I long to see it burn.
Flames flicker their arms like an emotional dancer, bursting into flames that sing of an untold desire. It is made of fire that burns and kills and destroys; it is made of light that guides and illuminates and warms. It is dangerous beauty. It is me. To the small child that is shivering, I would gladly lend my warmth. Yet, I have scorched and destroyed without ever intending to. Have you ever both hated and loved yourself? Been both happy and sad? To know that you can share and be proud but that you are capable of things you wish you couldn't do? There is blame to be had for the desires that lead to actions of regret. Desires you relish in but desires you hate. How does such a relationship work? I wish all I was was an illuminating flame of warmth, but I seek the oxygen and materials that give life to my dances and allow me freedom. Even if it means eventually there'll be nothing left and I'll die out yet again. Even if it means there is pain. Poor little flame.. Poor little me. Oh sad misery of good that wallows in its own hole.
There is chaos beyond the walls of my heart that even I do not see. A world spun to life that feels as real as you and me. You do not understand it, I cannot comprehend it. It bursts of wonder but consumes like darkness. Tell me you know; tell me you understand. I wish you knew; I wish you understood. "It's in the state of the mind" they'd say. They have no idea how right they are. "She's emotionally weak, much to learn" they'd think. They have no idea how I wish I wasn't. Posters of motivational smiles and words are abundant but all I want is a world of my own tears and degrading thoughts. You do not need to know, although I wish you would. It gets awful lonely here, but I don't want your mirroring opinions. I know the things you'd say or think. Don't you think I hear me say it too? But I am not you, but me. I'm sorry I'm such a fool.
I caress the misty smokes of black in my mind. It is beautiful and peculiar. I lose myself in the darkness and like it. Yet, I like the light too and the happiness of life it brings. It is caring and joyful. I feel no pain there. But the dark calls to me sometimes, lonely. I don't know how to leave such a beautiful thing alone. There is pain but it's strangely nice too. There is no worry of people here, only my own opinions and pain and tears. I miss the light then sometimes, I hear laughter on the other side. I have a life there and people that rely on me. "I'm sorry darkness, I must be strong now and go. The light beckons me." It wraps its burning tendrils around me first but lets go, knowing that I will be back, knowing I'm the one who will not let go.
So the story goes. So the fire burns. So I hold a tendril, a mark scorched into my soul. So as life goes on, back to the light I must go.
