I buried my heart years before I knew what life meant, before I ever took a moment to explore the kingdom that is within me.
Before the coming of age, I fell to the preaches of the popular and the cool. I listened to unsightly words become labels of me, such as,“stupid” on needless occasions, as students looked on and the teacher pointed. I fell prey to the voices that cluttered my existence of who I was, and what I was meant for.
As time passed I struggled with the savoring of poison, numbing my thoughts and the voices that crept. Feeding the urge to make it all go away with the joys of pills and the rare occasion of coke drowned with whiskey and false laughter that came with it. Only to end each night with quivering misery and spiteful hate toward myself.
With misery building her home inside me, I left myself locked behind walls with tears sunken in a well, never to be released. Skirting the thoughts that would leave not only my heart buried but my flesh.I had demons clawing at the walls of my mind, coming to fruition in my dreams, leaving me restless like the ticking of a clock. Always going never stopping. Anxiety swept the air like foul stench of rot. I found myself insatiably tasting the sour flavors of pity. Waiting for a hand to pull me from this hell I so maliciously adored.
I thought there was nothing to save me, that this is all I had. Yet, there was a something in me, a voice, a voice I believe that had always been there, call it God, the universe, call it what you may. But it found its way through the empty echoes of my shadows.
I could hear it, constant, like a soft breeze to my ear, whispering for me to create, to spill ink upon paper, to venture into myself. And when all felt that all would collapse on me as I emptied a bottle down the dry walls of my throat, tearful eyes clouded my sight and I found myself writing an entire book. It was a release from all the pain and sorrow I had held inside for far too long. Keeping it locked away like the denial of dreadful disease. I had finally found what had always been yearning in me.
Writing broke down the walls I had built so high and gave me a view of myself so beautiful, my heart wept along with my soul.I now have the ability to dig up my heart and place it in its proper home.
So now I say to you, if your heart is buried, find that tool, that will help you dig it up. For something in you is yearning to come to creation of life.
I believe their is a talent in all of us, have you found yours?
Thank you for reading, want more? A Man's Traveled Heart
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