Old shit

Atlas, renewed.
With the worlds hands around my neck, I cry out, "Break me."
If you want to break me, you're fighting a losing battle.
Welcome chaos so you can drift in the waves of adrenaline the mind creates in response to panic.
The tectonic plates of my moral standing collide and reverberate a feeling of release I can only compare to a divine salvation.
With the worlds knuckles on my cheek, a bloody mouth spits out, "More."
Welcome fear and failure for the right to say you've been there and found reason to trudge on.
Pick up those feet, swing those arms, expand those lungs with air, your mind with knowledge, and your heart with understanding.
Even if you're crawling, do so with the conviction that you're alive.
With the worlds knife at my back, I pledge my life to no one and laugh in the face of hopelessness, "I'm still here."
Spread your feet, stand your ground.
Throw back those shoulders that are so used to carrying the weight of the world.
Lean your head back and take in what the world has to offer...
          For all it's done to you
          For all the things it's yet to do
          For all the years you've yet to live
          For all the years cut short
You still smile and laugh.
Because when you raise your palm to see the creases of your able hands, you see the world. 





Untitled

            Who am I?
Think of me as everything in this world that has lost meaning. All the things that used to be so precious and pure in their value, now empty with forgotten purposes. Think of me as the after effects of misplaced hope.
         I'm not your Average Joe, but I'm not the second coming of Jesus.
         I'm your lost ideals. I'm what you used to be.      
         I'm everything that was beautiful, now decayed.      
         I'm the Mona Lisa ripped apart.
         I'm the Eiffel Tower burned to dust.
         I stand for more than myself.
         I'm living proof of a lost theory. A dream that used to be real.
         I'm your lost and found of creativity.
         I am not the destruction, I'm what's left over.
         I'm that little moment when you realize that what you had is gone.
         I'm indispensable, but unwelcome when noticed.
         I'm the first step towards progress.
You've always known me, but like a child who's in denial, convinced yourself otherwise.

Speak!
The funny thing about words is that they never stop.
Even when you aren't talking, there are letters forming themselves into these intricate little patterns that we call words.
Words made to describe the constant relaying of information, emotion, imagination and fantasy that your brain can't stop conjuring up.
So many words bouncing themselves along the walls of your mind, bumping, crashing, intertwining, you have to speak to let them out. maybe if you say this, confess a little of that, they'll calm down and you can find peace of mind.
Except, when you let one go, another comes to take it's place. Sometimes even two, three or four will replace that thought. A word for a word, your mind never stops.

A lot of the time you don't even know where these words are going or why your mind even threw them together in the first place.
Why should you say that?
Why should you ask this?
When you convince yourself that you shouldn't, that's when you've ruined yourself.
Rather than let these words release you from their hold, those words rebound around one another creating a fantasy situation of if   they had been spoken. If  they had been planted into another persons mind to find freedom and reassurance of its importance.
But you know it's just a fantasy. A dream. A sad little imagination looking for solace from a person too afraid to find out where their words could have led them.
You didn't speak up; you let yourself down.
You try to disguise a lack of confidence and self esteem as self control.
You speak the words aloud: "Self control. It was self control." But the words dancing inside your mind are calling you weak and cowardly.
 Words will always find their place whether you speak them or not.
It just eases the tension when you give the words a purpose and meaning for their existence.
At the end of the day, when stripped of everything, all you really have is your word.
Whether or not you stuck by that word determines what kind of person you are.

So, what do you have to say?