If I told you I had secrets to show, you would believe, but you won’t believe totally that they are personal until you read some.
This month of August, I’ll be telling you some secrets in literary form, it would then be up to you to decode.
This piece is one that fights my peace, and I’m sure it does so to you sometimes. And it takes being your August visitor to break free.
I have a confession.
Most nights my pillow listens to the conversations I have within myself as they carefreely seep out in anguish, but never gets into a dispute about the bed holding me more than my girlfriend does.
So mum fights for her – I think. With words enough to expose my scabbed conscience.
I admit to my flaws, but It’s awful, they just won’t scrub the floors. Even my butt recently learnt the language of divorce from the three sitter, without the opportunity to sit passively with buts.
Comfort, my companion, has also deserted me to deal with today’s line up of activities as they majestically come forth.
I hit myself not because my body is a beat box, but to help me break in response to mum’s soulful parlance. It hurts, moving to your heart’s beat as it plays out a pattern repetitively. It hurts more, knowing you caused the rapid succession of heavy throbs that reminds it: You’re in a cage, bespoke.
I hit myself, not as a noun raising a fist towards itself, but as one deserving of words fit for making iron smelt. I don’t know how deep the pain was, but I feel daily it grows worse.
If it could react, maybe I would have had more scars than subpars to my face, but my pillow would only listen to my stray words:
Why are things undone when they ought already to have been? How come chats read are more important to you than tasks cleared?
“I don’t want to come off as being heady – my promises I try to keep.”
You lose on both sides cos you fail to use your head; stay up at night till highs turn red, then you say loosely—
I’m tired of this bed, I’m tired of “What’s up,” I’m tired of being tired of not getting things done, I will do it tomorrow.
Probly till I get an August visitor, that has been the cycle and this is the twelfth, my pillow remains still and bed undone.
I know I’ve troubled your brain a little, I’d love you know your thoughts on this!