Stop

We all have secrets. Secrets from one another, things we don’t say, say to parents, friends, loved ones. Secrets- wanna hear mine? The word: Resilience. The word: Moron. They strike me. They remind me. They hurt me. Childhood. Games. Speaking it like I knew a thing or two. Hating others, bleeding them to prove points that never scored. Only opening rents in My own heart. Hostage to my memory. Attacking. Social violence. Ransoming off my soul for the saddest reason. At the core the colours of reddish love and passion pass through arteries into every cell, constricting, poisoning and passing blood. Tightly squeezed, head spins, hills become mountains, assailed children, and all the while you nurtured me. This goblin, yellow of fear, cherubian naïveté pink, green of sick and ivy. Purple in my majesty. Departing words ” you still have time”- working at me. LOOK AT THE STARS PAT, look at the stars. Moron, resilience. I’m struck, I’m sorry, I’m sick

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