Thorned Strings

Saturday, August 05, 2017



Conventional. They howl for change but turn furious at anomalies, at divergence from their old dwindling ways. Misdirection. They warn about the monsters under our beds so while we bury our faces under the blanket, they anesthetize our unquiet gardens, sow the seeds of fear and doubt in the broad daylight. Treason. At times of dispute they think bringing up all the favors they have done would obscure their obvious guilt.

But often talking about an abuse only tastes like ashes on our tongues, until we pick up the machete, cut the strings fastened around our limbs, make waves like those who are quick to pick themselves back up.

Do not sleep deeply in the victorious night. Not to bother much about former enemies for they have so much to prove, but watch out for those supposedly friends or guardians or muses whom when we are ready to fly, they knowingly clip our wings in the name of safeguarding.

Do not go to bed tonight with cynicism either. Just learn to say goodbye when it is simply time to withdraw from unhealthy relationships.

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