Worth, defectiveness, self doubt.
I hurt because my mind knows the truth surrounding infectious self slander but my heart narcissistically begs to differ; or perhaps it’s the other way around-
-or perchance -more likely- it’s neither at all; and these voices of disesteem are not even our own; installed inside of us like software.
It is easy to disregard ourselves as a nuisance, to succumb to the seduction of uselessness; especially when admitting your strength is as terrifyingly comital as it is.
Addicted to the mentality of being children to no one, loved deeply by none. Rebels rejecting a purpose.
I hurt; because I see the ghosts of our pasts possessing us in the present; our co-dependant partnerships with them, seemingly closer bound than our chosen kin. This is a twisted symbiotic relation void of true intimacy -only devastating consumption.
I hurt because I am growing, for it pains so considerably to become; as it is so lonely during the act of learning to be alone. I hurt because I am scared of who I will become, but am no longer able to sit idle in an bud un-blossomed;
“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom” – Anaïs Nin
I hurt because I yearn for family, for community and for the type of change that will shatter the worlds conceptions of what we are truly capable of. I hurt because I can’t be angry anymore, only relentlessly devoted. This is daunting in the most magnificent of ways.
I hurt because I love, I love so fucking hard that sometimes I feel it overflowing from my heart and filling my lungs. Asphyxiating me if I make attempts ignore it. Flooding to where all I can breath in and exhale is absolute veneration and faith in humanity. This passion will not be extinguished; believe me I have tried many a time.
I hurt because on occasion I still worry “Am I Wrong? Radical? Crazy?”
I hurt because I believe in a new world, a culture that is withholding it’s self from being born. These people at times, their self hatred matches my own; the doubt and defeat spreading like mycelium.I hurt because I know it’s apocryphal; I know I will live that same love until my last breath; even if it ends up meaning “nothing”.
Perhaps one day it won’t be so frightening.
I hurt. It hurts good; I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“The ultimate self-absorption of our age is the self-hatred of our age. The belief that nothing we can say or do can help but screw things up even worse.” – Stephen Jenkinson