Disorder

I have a meta-physical disorder that only love ones prevail to give, beauty. You can say you are beautiful to low self esteem. You can say you are terrific to low confidence. You can give a compliment to be of hate. All file in a folder of depression kind words mend & twist what we call depression. Depression can be formed by kind words. Are we in a never ending psychological battle? Are we really telling our reflection the truth? It rolls around the depths of mind looking for an opening of salvation, but the salvation picks what it wants and never what it needs. Is it called salvation? Salvation was the name I that mistaken long ago for divine belief, but he stole the social security number for hope. The name is empress of social abyss. It feels off of manipulation, false modesty, and lies. So, the battle off words falls as a disorder. Feed me words and the definition shall change. Feed me light and a path will lie before you. Beauty? Body language walks hand and hand as the disorder works with the empress. Oh how we can tell ourselves the truth as we cover it with lies. Beauty is my meta-physical disorder. Can words or actions mend its wounds?

Oppression

A woman walked into the cemetery with tears in her eyes, a rose in the right, and a letter in the left. She sat by a tomb with the name chiseled away. As she looked a smile came across her face, but sorrow was still present. She placed the rose on where the name was removed and started to read her letter. It read,”

I felt it. Your presence is like the wool over sheep’s eyes. You had me see the chalk outline on the streets that turned into a sinister shadow figure at my door. Your eyes had me see the view of blacks just another notch on Massa’s belt. Just another nigger to add to the collection of abuse. The force from your hands has authority to make me not rise from my bed. How are you doing this and you are gone?

     The ring from the grand clock is the gunshot from your hand. The murmur near my backside is your voice from my knockout. The chill from the meadows is the breeze on my scars. Numb, so the pain can cease. Comfort, to let me know that death has not taking his place.

     You were not the same ink as I. Color was why our relationship was appalling. Your mindset places me in an abysmal scenery that I never thought I would see or experience. I see you as an individual and not by a monster, but you reminded me of a never changing rough draft. Every line was unusual, never corrected, and your ending was not concluded.

     Your accident frightened me, stunned me, and gave me a sense of joy. Your accident gave me a check for the unseen illusions, but vicious facts in the depth of my mind. The illusions say,” Our lifestyle was great. The teachings you grew up with were immoral. The abuse was love and comfort. You loved him as he loved you.” Vicious facts countered,” Love!? Baby you were used, abused, and been treated so cruel. This was no accident; it was a misfortune upon him.”

     Stunned?! Don’t worry; you had my body, broken my spirit, but you never had my soul. Your misfortune was not by me. It was by your further manacles you thought you destroyed. The one you laid on the pathway of wondering souls; your previous devotee and fatality. The night you slept, I prayed for your demise. Found the ex devotee you once despise. She came to my plea and your last breathe was with the same sight we saw daily, darkness.

     With you departed from this life, your other fatalities are release from your dark spiritual presence you positioned on them. Released from the chains you had on them. Released from your authority you once had on them.

     You will always have your brand on us and for days to come, but your brand will not be placed on every man I see. “

     She stood from the ground and look on the horizon. Her husband came to comfort her. His poised demeanor placed a shade over the grave and held her with these words leaving from his lips,” Honey! I know your tears are from dreadful recollections. Please, let me restore your broken heart. Let me be the man that he never was. Let me show you what first-class love is all about. As God is my witness, you will know 3 things. You are beautiful, you shall always love you more than anything, and God loves you through all your faults.” She gazed upon him like a sliver knight on a white horse. Their hands joined together as a heart of steel and walked away on glowing path of faith.

Submission

Once upon a time you could say no

Once upon a time your family will push you to go

In life, you don't know who you really are

Unless you look in life not near, but far

Usually in life you are in control

Unless you’re in a situation that weakens your core

Once it weakens your core, you think you’re cured

When you think people help for your own natural good

Core weakened, addiction filled

You let it on out, you will get killed

Once you figured it’s not an addiction

It's another thing, its worse, submission

You laugh and cry, you hide it inside

Knowing that every moment you want it to die

You thought that in your head it was passionately sick

But it’s an uncontrollable urge, a sin, a tick

You crave for flesh, which is a sin

They feel the clothe of the flesh, which to them is thin

You violently push and then suddenly stop

Because you know in a moment your about to pop

You fall and melt as they lick and stir

You rolling on clouds, that push, you purr

Knowing its wrong, the thrash and rouse

Your heart is opened like an unbuttoned blouse

You are not crying, put a tear falls from your eye

Because in your mind you know you died

You submit because you knew want it

You submit because you fiend, you need it

You submit because you knew it was wrong

You submit because you fought before it was gone

You awaken, refreshed but felt misused

You know you refused, but now you’re confused

You lay and say "I know you crave the rest of me"

He says "It's okay, I gave you my ecstasy"

The tension in your body went into remission

All because you did a total submission

My question to you and then I am through

Is submission a form of total control that is taken from you and meant to be sold?