acting it out

the art of learning to live

echoes & shadows

time heals all wounds

I want to shoot whoever first penned this sentiment.
When I am hurting, I find it to be a filthy, bloody, lie.
When I am not, I still think it is a misrepresentation of a truth.

Perhaps others feel differently than I do?
I often believe that I feel differently, love differently, heal differently
than the people I am surrounded by.

Yes, time lessens the pain of a wound.
But the wounds, the ones which strike me deep to my core,
Those are the ones that stay, throbbing still.

I imagine my spirit to be a pumpkin.
(bear with me here).

The whole of who I am is a pumpkin.

Over the course of my life I am cut open, I am hollowed out.
Every cruel word.
Every lie, every betrayal, every friend turned foe.
Every email, text, vague Facebook status
that I obsess over.
These are my wounds.
These are the swift spoon like blows that swoop into my heart & scrap against my insides, taking bits of me with them.
I am left one layer thinner with each ill force.

I am not a blind victim. I know that I also cause the layers to be removed even further each time I re visit my pain, each time I dwell on the negative.

But all the same, I become more & more hollow over time.
The wounds do fade into one another, some completely forgotten.

But then there are the ones that hurt the most at their conception.
The ones that are repeated in cruel irony due to my bad judgement in who I associate with & who I let into my life, my heart.
& the ones that, sometimes were not even necessarily intentionally harmful
by their deliverer.
Just comments made by those who are blind to how much their words effect others,
because they are not saying the words for the one to whom they are speaking,
but for themselves as a result of their own wounds, or insecurities.

These are the wounds that resonate in the empty void that is left in my center.
The wounds that become echoes in my soul.

I create a smiling exterior.
A fixed look of happiness to deflect from my internal damages.

Life has made me a jack o lantern.

But every carved pumpkin has that light.
The candle placed in its center to make it glow
& to illuminate the face, to bring it to life.

So, what’s my candle?
What is my light which will chase out the shadows left by the people in my past?
& how do I make sure no one can blow it out?

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