Be a weed in a field full of flowers.

Some people will see you and leave you be,

but a special person will pick you out.

Everyone has their doubts of whether they are worth it or not,

but I can asure you that I think you are.

And people who think you're not are cowards.

-w.o.s

Emotion is a like a large home

And I don’t seem to have the right key to leave

These breaths don’t feel like my own

And I can hear my own heart beat

Long hallways marked with empty rooms

And yet I stay in the same one

Feelings are uncharted

And I don’t want to make a map

I get tired of reading the same old pages

And the rest of the book is empty

The walls are full of words

And I repeat them daily

I speak so much truth

And all that I hear are lies

Emotion is like a large home

And it’s empty and I’m alone

Wondering aimlessly through the dark hallways

And I can’t find the right room

Somewhere in this house is love

And all I find is regret

The days draw closer

And the nights draw colder

I’m lost in this house

And I see no way out

I have so many doors

And not enough keys

If I did would I even open the doors

And begin to feel mores

I know I’m single but mingling is a little tricky for me you see

I’ve got cuts so deep not sure if I’ll stop the bleeding

Been me, myself and I so long we keep on repeating

‘Something about I’m lonely but don’t interrupt the peace’

I’ve been disturbing it since I was three,

I am what I am but who is me?

A giant scraping against ceilings

Swear I’m heartless yet as careless with feelings as ceiling fans

Still the man despite all the damage

My kicks are flawless, my wings; halo I lost em

Really an artist always starving sorry for my roaring

Atlanta Zoo lost a lion one summer; it’s been in me snoring

Watch out for quiet, the strongest never talk shit

Just build like a hurricane full of sharks call me Florence

Got four brothers probably thugs from the lack of love

Atlanta is a cold bitch and our grandma was no momma

So guess hard knocks is in my genetics

Legit drips from me so don’t sweat it

We can get a gun a mask if all else fails

Kick rocks at the shore like Pirates and set sail

Feel like the system already beat me to the shovel

Catching bodies and flashing badges never saying sorry

Bitches can say the same thing about me

I know I’m single but mingling is a little tricky for me you see

I’ve got cuts so deep not sure if I’ll stop the bleeding

Been me, myself and I so long we keep on repeating

‘Something about I’m lonely but don’t interrupt the peace’

Just pass me the weed, watch my back and front equally

I’ll do the same, real as you’ll ever see

Don’t want my next girl to be a casualty to my casually

I’m an Atlien in the streets, trying to fit circles squarely

Life’s been acting unfairly

Lemons looking more friendly

All my enemies don’t know me equally

Art of War in my scars, if nothing else I’m mostly heart

I never give in when the wind blends in with my demons

Will you hold me close when my senseless loses reason

It’s okay that’s why I drink and smoke gotta numb the beast

Born from the darkest depths of me

Begging with the devil to let me set it free

Even he knows I should let it sleep

I know I’m single but mingling is a little tricky for me you see

I’ve got cuts so deep not sure if I’ll stop the bleeding

Been me, myself and I so long we keep on repeating

‘Something about I’m lonely but don’t interrupt the peace’

But please don’t give up on me

Some days you just want to scream

Some days you just want to hide so you can be yourself without no questions of why?

With no rude faces looking at you like you should act your age of being an idiot of silliness

If we can’t be yourself then just throw me in a box

Tape it tight let me be lost in myself of my own world of happiness

I am a easy going person

I don’t need plans for adventure of spontaneous moments

I cry so please don’t tell me to stop

How can you stop the knife of pain going deeper in my heart

I am active like the road runner

I love to laugh even if it makes no sense

I love giving a shoulder to cry on and listen to your sadness

If I get nothing in return but to wipe your tears

I love being me but lately

I feel like maybe am just telling that to my stupid self of a stranger that once know happiness

I can tell everyone am here

That’s all my heart of my soul can give

Am tired of trying

Am tried of finding paths for someone in need of help that can’t see there is life so much more beyond our eyes

Looking in the mirror of my own reflection seeing the beauty fade

When you feel like you are alone in the dust

Silence is the coldness in the room

Sleep had become nightmares

Figuring out life of happiness is a joke

Being yourself is getting yelled at pushing you deeper in a jar of darkness

Words are madness of nothing

Pain is blood with me laying in it of confusion, pain, unhappiness of being me

When I know I am that happy soul

... aren’t born

and never made to order.

No demands can be made

of man or woman

to act or react.

When truth’s moment arrives

in the hardest of times

real hero’s emerge

real hero’s disappear

until the next time.

No, they aren’t born.

They aren’t made to order.

They just are.

*****

This is dedicated to all those who lost their lives on 911 and for all the responders who sacrificed their time to do the very best they could. To all those on United Airlines Flight 93, who, in giving up their lives to do the right thing, that other lives unknown to them would continue.

The video is by Alan Jackson ... https://youtu.be/gPHnadJ-0hE

If you care to, the following link will take you to where you can read every name that was involved with 911 who died.

https://stgvisie.home.xs4all.nl/List-of-Passengers-911.html

... and to all of you who come to read, comment, like/repost and so forth, know it is appreciated, but when 9/11 arrives, take a few moments to remember.

Chronic fatigue syndrome. Sluggish cognitive tempo. Depression.

Maybe they're right, maybe not. She doesn't care to confirm with the medical specialists, nor does she bother about her health status. Her stepmother is worried sick, her dad a drunk mess, her baby brother oblivious to her existence. What a hectic world.

The schedule doesn't end there, no. Regular therapeutical preachings: an hour with this, then the next with that and so on. A slew of voices keep playing in the background, again and again, so much so that they've become blur imprints in her mind. It takes no effort to remember when one's been forced into this sort of unending treatment. That isn't to say she has any idea which sounds belong to who, or what.

What requires immense energy and willpower, however, lies in the dozens of mandatory tasks she has to fulfil as a human being on a daily basis. The routine involves lifting her eyelids to face the start of day, masticating grub for adequate sustenance, attending tuition to overshadow her failures in class, slouching under a stream of lukewarm water, and more chewing and grinding before closing the night with some uneventful family time. Church visits aren't forgotten; they're squeezed into Sunday mornings. The only part she looked forward to ever so slightly was the end-of-day slumber.

Life brings good news for every person at a point in time. Hers came two years ago, when a fortunate turn of events - in the form of irresponsible diagnoses by doctors who cared only for the buck - limited her duties over time to a tiny handful. She first waved goodbye to studies when she was initially diagnosed with half of all the mental illnesses the professionals could think of. Four months of medical aid did nothing to improve her mentality; instead, her indolence intensified and eventually, her dose of meager chow was substituted with a luxurious supply of IV drips. Edematous calves followed soon after, due to a lack of movement, sentencing her to a life in bed.

That didn't stop her stepmother from wheeling her to church still. The priest would reiterate his unchanging advice during each visit: 'her salvation lies within herself'. Word-wise, she can recall, but semantics-wise, she doesn't feel the need to fathom. Fervent prayers were recited repeatedly weekend after weekend, leaving her to gaze absent-mindedly at devout supporters to while away the time. She cannot comprehend why they would worship the heavens when it is all but a farce. She cannot see the reason.

Today, at noon when the sun shines at its brightest, a terrible fate descends upon her. It is as if the heavens are desperate, finally able to prove their authenticity after years of waiting. A fatal accident plays out at a pedestrian crossing - a wheelchair smashed into pieces, a teenage woman's blood seeping into the asphalt road, an older guardian screaming incoherently and a Honda SUV speeding down the lane and out of sight.

She fails in her attempt to ignore the excruciating pain, for the intense sensation is eating away at her brain. She wills herself to fight against it, something she's thought too troublesome to do until this moment. For the first time in her life, she thinks she's able to directly confront the evil sloth residing within her. She had always been too afraid to do so, but now … now is the time to retaliate. The time to stand up for her true - good - self.

But it's easier said than done.

She's struggling in the war. Acedia's strength, which is more than tenfold that of hers, is gaining the upper hand. Her cognitive abilities are shutting down. Her senses are becoming duller with each passing second. Her pain is gradually decreasing. She's got to persevere even -

Wait, is Acedia … helping her?

Realization suddenly hits her the same way the car did. The lesser she resists, the more the pain fades away. Her world is metamorphosing into utopia.

Everything is clear now: the heavens aren't myths, but the interpretation of heavens as a place of sanctity is. Underappreciated beings like Acedia, who help the unfortunate such as her, have been shunned and treated as sins. She clearly knows whose side she'll stand by.

The pain is completely gone the moment she declares her support for Acedia. A portal materializes before her eyes soon after, and she takes in the environment that's on the other side - vast midnight skies with no stars or moon to light it up. Silent and ethereal. Bliss.

The last thing she hears are muffled shouts. "Emer- … respi- … coma … room … save." There's no need for any heroic acts, she thinks to herself, for Acedia has saved her. Inwardly bidding farewell to earth, she steps into the gaping black hole to start a new and better life.

There's a stain on the wall about four inches to the left of the television set. The stain has been there for a long time. If Daryl were to look at it closely enough, which he never does, he'd still be able to see the spindly remains of an unlucky fly's legs. The fly’s left wing had fallen off from the wall about two weeks after its death, and now rests at the wall’s edge where it meets the floor, paper-thin and invisible, caked in a thin layer of dust.

A poorly-performed burial service.

Sometimes Daryl looks at the stain, but then whatever TV program he’s watching snatches his attention back, and he forgets about it again. Today, HGTV is on. Daryl thinks of changing it, but his hands are covered in barbeque sauce, so he leaves the remote where it is and continues eating. Onscreen, a kitchen is being gutted. Someone is taking a hammer to the cabinets, and Daryl wonders if the man’s safety goggles will leave funny marks around his eyes. He takes another bite of his chicken wing and then sets the plate aside, mostly untouched. He hasn’t had much of an appetite lately. Can’t even bring himself to lick the sticky sauce from his fingers, so he just rests his hands palms up on his lap, fingers curling inward.

There is a sink down the short hallway and into the kitchen, and he thinks of going to it. He’d take the plate of wings with him, maybe, so he could put the leftovers in the fridge for tomorrow. To Daryl, it doesn’t look like the countertops in the kitchen on his television screen are all that outdated, but a woman named Casey insists it’s necessary for the eventual cohesion of the space, and Daryl figures she probably knows better than him. It looks satisfying, breaking up the pieces and starting all over again.

Outside the window on the left side of the couch, the sun is making its slow descent. Orange bleeds into the room, folding itself into the single, beige pillow and disappearing. Daryl doesn’t notice. They’ve started in on the master bedroom now.

In the daylight, Daryl tells himself that there are things worth doing.

Sometimes he goes to the grocery store and stands in the aisle underneath the blinking fluorescents and tries to remember which kind of ice cream is his favorite. In the end, he just gets chocolate. He’s glad for the automatic checkout lines, the robotic voice of a woman he doesn’t know that asks how many bags he’d like and tells him he can insert his credit card now. There are people here. He can see them even beneath the ugly lights. Terse glances at calorie counts, the playful gaze of a girl holding up a sushi roll for her boyfriend to see. (This one, babe?), a mother reaching for a dropped pacifier, eternal patience etched into her smile lines. Daryl knows he belonged here, once, but the world passed him by a long time ago, and God knows it won’t be slowing down anytime soon. Certainly not for him.

In front of the TV again, Daryl dips into the ice cream container. He’s sure there’s a bowl somewhere in the kitchen, but the cabinets always seem to glare at him, wondering why they’re not being updated. Today, it’s a crime show of some kind. Flashing red lights, caution tape surrounding the outside of somebody’s shattered, suburban life. The camera follows a sandy-haired man and his giant of a partner into the house, bloodstains smudged sporadically along the carpet as they make their way into the foyer. A melted bit of ice cream drips onto Daryl’s socked foot. He ignores it.

“Could be a ghost,” the sandy-haired man says only to his partner, voice dipped too low for the other investigators to hear.

Huh, Daryl thinks. Not just a regular crime show then.

Outside his window, the sun has been down for hours. The dead fly on the wall beside the television screen loses another leg, weightless and tiny and impossible to notice. A packet of barbeque sauce from Daryl’s chicken wings has tipped over, seeping sluggishly into the beige pillow closest to the window. Tomorrow, Daryl will see the unfixable stain, and he will be filled with an overwhelming sadness that cannot be explained.

The day after that, he will sit back down on the couch and finish off the rest of his ice cream. The pillow will be flipped over, barbeque sauce side down.

A poorly-performed burial service.

I used to think Fears

were feeding on me!

like orphans suckling

a surrogate mother;

but I've grown older

more responsible

& now I know. . .

they can't survive

out on their own 

and so I feed these

Phobias, as if

they were my own.

#BigFearsLittlePhobias #Challenge

If you let me down I'll lift you up

And when it's out I'll fill your cup

Born from nothing now I'm love

From a heart who's beat is tough

March to it awkward enough

Join me in the dirt and mud

Bleed with me; call you blood

If you let me down I'll lift you up

You only see the potential I hide

Not the knife that slides along my lines

Cutting seams and strings alike

Blurring good; evil in my mind

Burning bridges for the darkest night

To light my way, now the way is ashes

Kicked to the wind as God demands

Sometimes I think I hear Him laughing

It's only demons scheming; planning

For the soul of a former latchkey kid

Heart on my sleeve; gun well hid

Flaws on blast no mask for him

Hell I barely fit this skin

If you let me down I'll lift you up

And when it's out I'll fill your cup

Born from nothing now I'm love

From a heart who's beat is tough

March to it awkward enough

Join me in the dirt and mud

Bleed with me; call you blood

If you let me down I'll lift you up

I know this trip is full of ups and downs

Seen some shit; been around

But I'm more than sins and hometowns

Open up my chest to show you how

To overcome the beast I lion out

Roar at my fear till it cowers

Foot to the floor, push through the hours

When it's lonely and time betrays

Know that's phoney we're all the same

Reaching out into the abyss

Finding touch screens but no connect

Hiding behind a digital mask

Missing all my friends

If you let me down I'll lift you up

And when it's out I'll fill your cup

Born from nothing now I'm love

From a heart who's beat is tough

March to it awkward enough

Join me in the dirt and mud

Bleed with me; call you blood

If you let me down I'll lift you up

I'd give it to my last for my fam

You can't break a broken man

Got pieces to go around

I'll be the ground to your stand

If you're lost than I'll be found

Killing shit at your back

When we finally make it home

We'll fill our cups, get drunk and laugh

If you let me down I'll lift you up

And when it's out I'll fill your cup

Born from nothing now I'm love

From a heart who's beat is tough

March to it awkward enough

Join me in the dirt and mud

Bleed with me; call you blood

If you let me down I'll lift you up