Odd Timing

Saturday, October 18, 2008

Believe me, we are not created equal.
On this stepped territory, with the wind rushing through our hair, there's not a shred of doubt that misery befell us once before - and now again. Just let it wash over your skin and caress it like a shadow's past. I am unspoken, still deceitful, unforgiven. Box me up and pattern me. Make me into that hostile package of your childhood lost; an innocent rose turned thorny. If you expected it, then maybe it is true.
I don't want to be dealt your kisses like a mercy plea, I don't want to listen to the hype they pile on your shoulders and tune out to the rest of the world, I DON'T want to care when you stab yourself in the back - let me clean that up for you, maybe you'll appreciate me more that way.
I am not your prized possession, and I dare not walk that line. But, at least, acknowledge me. Make me better. Into something fit for your consumption. Bask in the fire and flames of my forgiveness: don't wall me off to the tragedy of ice. We are not business associates but living human beings. Do I have to bug you until you listen to me, or will I be heard when the floors need scrubbing?
Please don't make this a song that needs repeating. Why do I have to follow you up the steps and down, why must I 'follow' at all? You're not my master, savior, ventriloquist [giving voice to my limp tongue]. I am not your stagehand. Don't mock me with your lectures. I want to hear your sound and not your speech, no more rhetoric for me. I won't take forgiveness for this brute honesty, it's shit and you know it.
I want to be heard.