If I looked at you and could view your past what would I see?
A Miscarriage, an addiction, or something that triggered PTSD
That your mother belittled you, your father adored you, and you now have low self esteem
That you were called a FANTASIST with such negative connotations that it has caused you to not DREAM
If I looked at you and could see through you would I see an empty shell, a broken heart, or someone struggling with their sexual identity?
Would I see arties that pulsate, veins that bleed, and organs that are similar to mine that I question “Is that me?”
All I’m trying to say is we are more alike than different so be more compassionate you never know where I’ve been.
Please remember that I could be you, you could be me, and we are all capable of sin.
Let’s LOVE, please LOVE, it is the greatest commandment, leave judgments for a higher POWER
This is vital, please hear me NOW ‘cause this is the TIME and the HOUR
About the Creator
Camille Lynn
I have my BSN. I’ve nursed for almost three decades. The arts and creative writing have always been a passion. Stories shape lives. Time to tell stories…my stories.
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More stories from Camille Lynn and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Dance
I thought I saw you but you didn’t see me I thought I knew you but you didn’t know me. My vision was blurred you were intriguing wrapped in all this spiritually but empty. My vision was challenged, you were spewing Peter, John, and Paul. What you weren’t was intentional about the application of the divine at all.
By Camille Lynn2 years ago in Poets
We'z Walking on a Path Ruled By Numbers
This road has felt endless, yet limited; every step tracked. Inching away along this path, I feel trapped. Confined. Left to this narrow passage that may one day amount to something greater. Time is not a concept. Only distance. From start to finish, I laugh and cry and attempt to convince myself that this is worth it. I cannot stray. I must keep going. Every step etched, is a step taken, is measured as more than before. I cannot even recall how I got here. Maybe I don’t even really exist. Just another tick marking off a perceived presence. Of what though? I am just another line drawn. Nothing more, nothing less.
By Oneg In The Arctic3 days ago in Fiction
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