Serenity

Sleep evades me.

My thoughts run wild.

My world in a haze.

Writing again has let everything flow like a gentle stream that is unvexed.

I’ve lost who I was along the way when my heart ran free.

See it as it be, I can’t change who I am to the core of me.

Loving me is hard, exhausting and unworthy.

Endulging in my company will bring misery and chaos.

It’s like a constant battlefield with no site of the white flag.

There is always a price to be paid when you enter my world.

When you want to be part of it or to be beside me through it.

When the core of me is hurt so deep and no one can understand, instead I appear to be crazy.

To be rash, childlike and questionable in every sense.

The more I’m hurt, the more I look crazy or like a scorned woman.

When all that is needed is space, understanding and simply caring instead of adding to the surpassable amount of anguish.

Compassion instead of conviction.

A friend instead of an executioner.

A partner instead of jester.

Prayers without hesitation.

Understanding instead of assuming.

Listening instead of deaf ears.

It’s harder to be kind.

It’s easier to be mean and hurtful.

Rise together or stay divided.