The Struggle

The hardest part is the struggle.
To understand what you're feeling.
Because you wanna scream, you wanna cry, but it feels like you'd open your mouth and nothing would come out.
Just silence.
You reach your hand out, hoping for a reassuring warmth in return, but nothing comes.
You feel things beside you, but for some reason you turn them away...
Thats the struggle.
To hide isn't enough, because you don't want to.
You want help.. but you don't want to be a burden...
Maybe because you feel that you have allowed so much of the world to be a burden to you that you don't want to do that to someone else.
That's the struggle.
I used to find comfort in the labryinth of words I used to write.  A jumble of emotions expressed so confusingly eloquent.
I understood it.. and anyone who knew how I felt, understood it as well.
But I'm at a loss for words. Eloquent or not.
I can't even be blunt anymore.
That's the struggle.
I just open my mouth, I open my mind.. and nothing comes out. Just silence.
I watch the sun... That used to give me reassurance.. the little things.. have abandoned me.
Just silence.
Serendipity,
Water.. never actually stops moving
So still waters are just as much alive as you and I.
Then I wonder,
How will my daughter or son look at it, the world.
Will she smile at the sun... Will he understand singing winds?
Will they see the love and laughter in the little things?
That's the struggle.
What am I doing?
What am I not doing?
The questions.. my dying heart asks as it beats steady beneath my swollen lungs.
Surviving off the flutter of butterfly wings inside.
Of caterpillars don't fly.. but butterfly's sure do.
I don't want to be Sylvia Plath, or Anne Braxton
How do I love and let myself be loved?
That's the struggle.. to not only write words, but to speak them as well.
I have to be honest with myself... It's a struggle.
And that honesty...
That's the struggle.