Scribbled Thoughts

Their past is stained

but they made you,

gave you kindness

and purpose

and a path your own.

Is it wrong to love them

when the whole world

remembers their sins,

the deliberate cruelty

they committed

before they created you?

Count the moments

where you risked

yourself

to discover a new way

of living.

Did it work?

Did you want it to?

Would you reset

a learning mistake

and start from scratch,

erasing all progress?

Or do you keep the error,

build around it

and watch what grows

as a result.

Perhaps something better

than perfection.

Alert to action

now a false alarm,

keep glancing back

and tracking time.

Will you progress

or admit defeat

till another day?

Analyse a feeling

or an imitation

and try to decide

what is real

for you,

and whether

that can mean anything

for those

who began as whole

and can see

all your flaws.

Search for my will,

a belief I would

fight for,

die for,

instead of a concept

I mimicked as real.

Do I even

have one?

Restore a moment

by staying still

and slowing all breathing.

Can you find it?

That edge

of everything.

Repair the tears

of tired muscles

with juice

wrapped in skin,

crumble to the nutrients

and revive yourself,

ready to

fast again.

Waiting pile

late with no regret,

expecting you to bend

and compensate,

running to its rhythm

until your heart

stops the beat.

Building pressure

with crushing weariness

while people

whisper insistents

and ignore

the flash of pain,

only wanting results.