These days, my tongue seems to be more selective to whom I speak. There are words that I can no longer say, events I never wish to speak about and names I wish to never mention. In my silence, I try to hide my thoughts but my face shows what is on my mind.
If the tongue inteprets the heart, then I must suppress what my heart still contains. If home is where the heart is, then you return to what you love. What does your heart contain? Does it hate? Does it love?
If I do not move forth, then I am stuck with ghosts and dead things. My past would be the biggest thing to me because I simply cannot move on and be in this moment. If there is nothing bigger for me, then what is my worship.
It is not my place to judge anyone but my messed up ideals distort my actions from my words. I whimper each time I hear them whisper of unspeakable things. I keep trying to own things that were never mine to begin with. And I keep losing things I never really had.
Here I am, trying to tell the difference between what makes me and what breaks me. I must not really be looking for you if all I still see is me. My idolatry of self, my pagan poetry. Mine.
- love and light, adrenalene