Blessed CurseTo derail the myth or fantasy that beautiful flesh has meaning or virtue or spiritual depth,Blessed Curse by careyanne75
I stand on my proverbial cracked, and broken soapbox with an audience of one who was captured by no fault of his own.
Physical beauty is similar to an ultra wealthy individual who will never know if its truly love or simply shallow greed lying beside him.
Is cellular allure an asset?
Possibly, certainly it is a time sensitive one as the doors opened by such allurement close quickly;
unless your have the staying power of compassion and intellect.
Does a beautiful facade make life easier, less painful?
Life within a pressurized can is excruciating.
It may hurt even more to be under a microscope as all the dirty, bruising stumbles and falls of life take place.
How do you have a healthy relationship when your exterior makes you subject to the base desires of our species?
How do you not objectify yourself when the entire world does?
Hard lessons, tougher consequences and the will to shine so bright
A Curious ResponseA Curious Response 3/5/07A Curious Response by shep4life
A simple gesture.
A world of light somehow sparks in my eyes.
Tears roll like logs down a mountain.
The sky releases the sun through
departing dark clouds.
I have been engulfed in a war.
What I should be and what I am
are at fierce odds.
Yet, one act of pure emotion has sent me
to a place I had long forsaken.
Why I was placed on this earth has long eluded me.
Human touch has felt alien lately.
I've always had self doubt.
My center has been off.
A warm embrace of appreciation has ignited
my place in this world.
A fire has lit my soul to the core.
Although it's been said before I will
It's nice to feel loved.
To touch someone so deeply
it takes a part of you?
How do you fathom that?
Comprehend that which is invisible.
It's a unique high.
Have I made a difference in this universe?
The stars have stories to tell, the moon
is shy, the sun needs prodding.
I used to think I was wandering on this
land, stumbling, hoping and begging
for an early end.
I Have a Confession One would think that being a priest,I Have a Confession by lidsworth
would warrant me,
joy beyond my wildest dreams.
What better job is there,
then to be a servant of God,
true and fair?
That's what I believed, before I kissed the marble,
that being a priest,
was a job to be marveled.
But the moment I was assigned a job from the bishop,
I knew from that moment on,
that my life would be screwed up.
The first day I went, I listened to confessions,
and I heard a tale of a woman,
who refused to leave her husband despite his aggression.
We did face to face,
so I saw her ragged and bruised skin,
and it looked as if someone had torn it with a rake.
Silent I remained, because of my vows,
and I hated myself,
when weeks later, she lay six feet underground.
She wasn't the last of her sorry kind,
I felt as if the abused,
had stood outside of my confessional, forming an endless line.
Next came a man whose arm looked like the surface of the moon,
he smoked weed in the morning,
and pricked heroine at noon.
“Forgive me father,
Trust and Doubt: A PantoumI've seen signsTrust and Doubt: A Pantoum by sandzen
in so many people,
saying, "Follow me
in." So many people
wear that expression,
saying, "Follow me.
Wear what I
wear." That expression
exhausts my mind, and I
wear. What I
wish: to never inhale
exhausts. My mind and I
free to choose, to
wish, to never inhale
something I might regret:
free. To choose to
know it might all mean
something. I might regret
if I discover,
know, it might all mean
if I discover
I've seen signs.
BrokenEmpty, though she smilesennailaughter
Broken, though she says she's fine
She sees the world
Through tear-filled eyes
And the clouded lens of a broken heart
Her arms are scarred
She's come so far
And yet she still is haunted
Her past laughs maniacally
As her skin wears thin
Insanity draws close
As her life seems to draw to an end
Because she still is weak
Even now, she has no control
Just a byproduct of a byproduct
Of a circumstance
Occurring just by chance
She is so small, so weak
So why do they care
They should stop
And move on
So it won't hurt when she's gone