Pain
What is it about certain things that can do so much damage. Why is it that a few words, completely harmless on paper, but spoken and given tone can dig and rip at my flesh? And why is it that I can feel these things so deeply? Why is pain my faithful but unwanted companion?
These are the questions I ask when I get hurt. Even just now, after years of getting used to feeling pain, it feels like a fresh scrape as a child. I cling to my heart in pain at the inability for my words to be heard. I want to tell them, "Hey, stop. Understand me!" But they taunt me and laugh when I get angry. So I'm left to contain them. To hold back the fire and let it fall as warm tears from my eyes. I long to tell them, but in such a state, all I would get is pity.
I despise pity. From a lack of understanding comes pity. The sorrow one feels when they have been shown the pain caused and yet its as shallow as the pool of my tears. They do not understand and so dismiss me as eccentric. I'm an oddity, a stranger here. This is my home, and yet when I reach down I feel a connection that is no longer there. I am lost in this cell. Trapped by powers far beyond any imagination. So here I sit, drunk with lonesome pain.
Read this here.
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