I had to write this
Most of it won't make sense
but all this feeling is raw
I hurt and hurt and hurt
And I cry tears and pray for hope in a desert that doesn't exist
I pretend to be okay.
because that's what they want
Today I preached for hours
nobody heard me.
Words better written then tearing apart hearts
Hate eats away at my tender heart.
I'm afraid to look and not find anything
And this was burning in my thorat.
And this once I admit.
You were right I couldn't bury it.
So this is anger flying away like butterflies
And breathing a sigh of relief
Because vines release my throat
and for just a moment
I am okay.


Penned by my hand on the 13th of Aequitas, in the year 655 AD.