The Safety of a Miracle

01/02/08

I am so tired of disappearing.
I am so tired of fading away.
Tragedies, traumas, memories,
the good times, the bad times,
all of it together make such a dynamic beautiful life,
both vulnerable and delicate, resilient and enduring.
But, to come home the way I do,
it is a pain that becomes indescribable.
As much as I have fought to represent these things,
trying to be so brave with what is dealt to me,
and supportive to those I care for,
it is a pain overemphasized by isolation,
with such little hope to spare,
so that a ray of light becomes so precise,
it burns a hole in my heart.

How bittersweet that my tongue is unlimited,
but my hands are so tied.
Yet, even this tongue has come at the worst price.
And I hold dear all those who share these tortures,
for I seen with my own eyes how impossible it was to withstand it,
for I seen so many crumble, so many fade and disappear.
And I don’t want to fade and disappear,
but to sit here before you and tread my reality,
is only possible by containing great devastation.

Yes it is true, I am riddle with scars.
Sometimes I truly feel it is all intentional,
and I truly am glad if it is me more than anyone else.
Because of the bloodline,
because of my birthright,
I have accepted the responsibility of being the voice for such horrors,
the voice for such pain and hurt.
How could I wish this all away,
knowing it never goes away and would only crush someone else?
So I try to be brave.
I wear it all like a curse of armor,
one that does not protect but weighs me down,
one that buries me a little more with every breath.
But I do not want to fade away and disappear.
Yet, who in their right mind would hold me?
Who would dare comfort such a spiral of no control,
of no say or choice over life’s requests,
to live the nightmares everyone else manages to balance,
to speak a language that can only burn the mouth?
For almost all those in my shoes are crushed and paralyzed,
and they have every right to be.
It is not fair for life to be so one-sided as it sometimes is,
and for those that are on this one-side,
it does not appear to be sometimes but all the time.
Yes, that someone would be a miracle to me.

So here I sit in a silence as deadly as the echoes of misfortune,
echoes that are not the past but the future,
and they are not consequences of anything,
they are the very nature of me.
When can I come home and not be so alone?
When can I be so sure?
When can I just stop thinking all together,
and just collapse in an eternal embrace,
in the safety of a miracle?
I don’t want to fade away and disappear.
I need the safety of a miracle,
and I know I can be a miracle too.