They scrubbed and cleaned until the solution ate through their fingers. Bleach water seeps down deep into their marrow. Still, their feet are caked in dirt. Tracking in the past mess into their scrubbed sanctuary. Seems that they are their own opponent. Breath after breath, inhaling the clean reality they worked so hard to fassen. However, they also know that with each gulp of chemical-infused air, they won’t be able to expel all the toxins they placed deep within.
From an onlooker, an outsider, an enemy, no matter how delicate, will see red, raw, cracked skin bleeding from the nose down to the mouth that laughs the filth away. Once inside the nostrils, it looks like famine. Skin begging to soak in clean, humid, loving air. The lack of the ladder has led to no hairs in place to protect their lining. No front line of the immune system, trash is easily welcomed into their safe place. Not even able to clean the mind from the sharp talk that takes place on repeat.
Chemical warfare has left its mark here. Blood craving to gush, to push out the bandit that has made its home within. What else is there to do but hide the entrance? So now, a perpetual mask is in place, leaving no room for beauty marks. Bruised flesh in healed yellow with infant pools of blues surround the barrier to keep the polluted air manageable, livable. If listened to carefully, they can hear the rest of their body screaming in confused protest.
Knees concave under the entire body’s pressure. Perpetually bent in place to scrub away the self-inflicted sorrow. No amount of disinfectant can be used to bring peace once more to this temple. Standing now, their knees yearn for the weight of their world, yelling for the blood that had been cut off. Mind-dizzing, fast, and painful tingling shooting back into their blue toes. If you lose your mind in the process of rearrangement, you are lost for eternity. They must stop long enough, endure the pain that is life, come back from near death, they must sit with discomfort, they must allow the evil thoughts to get loud for them to stop at all. Once it all subsides, I promise you, battered warrior, you will begin to hear your soul speak.
“Our shell, the human body, is in no shape to reinvent continuously. Balance is needed; without this, you will never truly grow. Rather, you will sink far down into the vat of the void, and it will swallow you whole. Be brave and trust in me to sit in the anger. In the confusion. In the mania. In the idealization of life without you. In the joy that brings shame. Sit with me and listen. The war is not over, be that as it may, the end is near. Peace and joy. Abundance and relaxation. Bliss and love are just around the corner. Just put the broom down. Let the mud dry. Let the filth consume itself. We will revisit it on a later date. But for now, we sit. We stay, we cry, we scream at the piles of shit that take up space. All so we can move past it all to pave a new path. “
