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Momma, why is the world so cruel? Why are we all so inherently selfish?
I'm not much of anything. I'm no newborn hero awaiting my destiny, no chivalrous knight to chase away the sorrow in broken hearts. There is a blaze in all of us, Momma. I look down at my chest and all I see is the shyest ember. It glows in me, Momma, but I cannot feel its heat warming me. I feel only cold. I look down at that glow sometimes, and I see it in all those around me. They burn so bright, Momma, that sometimes it hurts. They are all so beautiful, Momma, basking in their color, in their light. And I fade behind their flames, Momma. I'm not beautiful. But my ember glows, Momma. I glow. I have something so long as I can glow. I live. I'm no hero, no messiah or prophet, I am a whisper of a name, a piece of a memory. Easily forgotten and unmentioned in a world I have yet to claim as one I belong to.
But I cannot lay in here any longer. I am made ever smaller by the beautiful, blazing soul beside me. She will outshine me in every way, Momma. I can tell you will love her, she is bright like you. I am dark. I am quietude and reverence, rumination and isolation. I embody all that keeps you strong, and yet I am so easily overlooked. I am the shadow her flames cast, a necessity, yet never something that draws the eyes. Will I ever be able to accept this role I am born to play? Or will I fight? Will I claw for brilliance? Will I damn all that will ever make me weak, that you cursed me with, Momma? Will you support me or leave me to my pain?
Momma, in this world full of greed...perhaps you are the worst.
The world hurts. I will come, in time, to know that it will always hurt. Until the Gods smile down on me, I will know nothing but pain. But Momma, if I am a shadow...why would something so perfect take notice of me? I am meek, silent, as I lay beside you. I open my eyes, and I see you Momma.
I want to hate you.
I'm too lonely to.
I am a freak. I am blood on gold, a tainted substance thick and disgusting on a metal too precious for my disease. I gaze up at you from two worlds, blood and gold. I am a freak, Momma. So I lay upon the land I've been placed upon, and I stare into the distance. There is no motivation for me, and yet I try to stand. Momma, it hurts! Momma, why have you hurt me like this? My voice cries out for you, and I sag beneath the weight I have been given. I am no hero. Why have I been given a hero's burden?
Momma, why could you not have killed me, then? This world is too cruel for me.
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[O] couch potatos don't grow well here [birth]
