The Child Inside of Me, I Need to Find You. I got to find you.

We all have that childhood favorite cartoon, movie or show. There is always that feeling that accompanies us while watching. It’s a mirror that helps us see the old us, not the old as in the future but the old as in who we once were. When we watch it, we bring a lost piece back to the puzzle, back to its place, back to us. We see how the actors were, so young, and how we are, old. It’s not a very beautiful mirror. Or maybe it’s us who are no longer that beautiful.
It is interesting, though. We see that person, again. A person we thought we lost. Us. There is this particular movie that whenever we watch, we fall apart, we cry. It’s not because the ending was beautiful, painful or unexpected. No. Quite the opposite we know every single detail. We remember the catchy lines and sometimes we say few lines before the actors say them. We cry because we remember how we used to be. Children. Innocent. We did not have to worry much. We did not have to worry at all. Well, expect when we used to break our parents’ favorite vase or glass.
When we used to be kids, crying was just our way of talking. We did not need any letters; we did not need any way of communication. We just used to cry. However, there was a part of us that longed for becoming older, for learning how to talk, and for learning the letters. But now, after years of learning (depending on how old you are), we cannot find the right words to express how we feel and crying is out of the question. We cannot cry. We are grownups.
We think a lot. We think about the future a lot. We worry about the missing pieces that will be lost. About who we will be and how ugly the world will turn to be. We find ourselves stuck in yesterday most of the time and wandering in the future. We never have time for the present. The present is like the clock when it strikes exactly twelve. It’s not yesterday, it’s not tomorrow. It’s somewhere where things are just different and scary and unknown. We think, at that instant, about the time we wasted and time yet to be wasted.
We all yearn to a moment when we just open our mouths and scream. Yes, scream. We all thought of that at some point. We all want to do what Superman once did_I don’t remember which part but I do remember that one of the Supermen did. His scream was so loud that the ice behind him broke_ We all want  to let the pain, anger, sorrow, fear or stress out! Can anyone deny that there was a time we opened our mouths to scream, but we had to silence ourselves? That’s not how grownups behave. I like being a grownup. I just envy the kids who spend the whole time shouting.
It’s the remedy we all need. One long loud scream to let everything out. Because that one scream will definitely guarantee a good future. We won’t worry about yesterday because it’s gone with that air that we let out once we scream. We won’t fear tomorrow because when yesterday is gone, all we will need is to love today. And we will love today. Today will be what matters.
All we have to do is to scream and let it all out. All of it. Until the very last of it. All of it in one scream.

Salvation Lies In The Heart

No one shall ever reconcile
With the beast inside.
No man shall redeem himself,
No man shall see light
So long darkness overpowers,
That darkness that leaps from our weary souls,
That bright gloomy look from what lives within us.
Those fake smiles and fake tears;
Those powerless emotions of faith that fades.
Light is half gone, half never existed
Because we are too proud to admit it.
The human who is made of clay,
The same who shall turn to ash
Is too proud to confront his sins,
Too proud to see the right,
Too proud to live by the law,
The only,
The divine.
It shall last like this for a long time
Until man learns how to cope,
How to fight against the pleasant vices,
How to see what lies beyond the devil,
How to see with his heart
Rather than his eyeballs.

Burned Heart


As I lean, as I break, as I give, as I take

As I hold, as I
I don’t see clearly. A dead end.
I feel
I know
I can tell
I am lost in a parallel universe where the only person I know is not me.
I flee, I run, I get lost
I am found where I am never to go again
A nightmare I saw couple of nights ago
I could not breathe
I could not see
Fire. A room on fire. I was in a room on fire.
I can inhale the smoke from miles away
I can inhale it from here.
It is stuck somewhere in my nostrils
Every breath I take reminds of that place.
I feel it. The burns are on my arms.
I feel it. The burns are on my heart.
I feel it. I fear it.
It is dark. Gloomy. Scary.
It is where no one can find me.
How can they when can they cannot even remember me?
I see a lot of people in different capes.
A lot of people in different colors.
A lot of people in different disguise
I see. I look. I stare. I gaze.
A room full of mirrors.
Another nightmare.
A scarier one.
I cannot wake up.
I am lost
Where I’ll never be found.

Colorful Injustice

Injustice comes in different colors. Does that mean it is colorful? Yes. Does it still have the same connotative meaning? No. Colorful: a mixture of different colors. When we speak of the different colors of injustice, we say: black, dark green, dark red, dark blue and the word that is in common: dark. It is related to everything devilish. Everything wicked. Injustice comes in different flavors. Does that make it syrup? Sweet? No. It tastes bitter. It tastes very much bitter. It tastes a little bit bitter. It is still, however, bitter.
Injustice. Sounds very rhythmic. I can hear the \s\ of whisper. The \s\ of secrecy. The \s\ of shame: how silly of me it is not \s\ in shame. It is hidden. Even ‘shame’ refuses to accept ‘injustice’ or maybe it covers justice, maybe it keeps it ‘concealed’.
Why, then, injustice is so much condemned? Simply because people do their best, THEIR BEST, to get something, win something or have something; however, someone who is ‘not in the mood’ or ‘annoyed’ or ‘disturbed’ or just ‘feels like not doing something’ ruins everything for that person. That person crashes every single step the other tried to build and coldly wipes off their rainfalls of sweat.
Has it always been like this? Yes.
People do not know that one word can bring down a dream that lasted for years and has been worked on since birth. People do not know that one number, written unfairly, can be the doom and the nightmare of a beautiful dream.
People do not know what injustice does to the heart of the person who was unfairly treated: more pain than a knife or a sword or a dagger can cause. Injustice is deadly. Lethal. Fatal. It hurts, it goes deeper, it rips, it aches, it kills. It distorts until the victim is no longer recognized; until the victim becomes a doe and the victim becomes the victimizer and so on until the end.
Injustice is a plague that lasts and lasts and lasts. And no one is safe. Even the victimizer is not.