selfish

Forget you.

The minutes turn to hours. These months are moving faster then days in the year. When did that happen? When did months fly by faster then the actual days. Something is missing. Something is losing it’s place with me. I can’t put my finger on it. It’s slowly further from my reach, way beyond my grasp. If I reach for it, it’s no longer there. Disappeared into the months that move faster than the days.

Its was either you or me. You with your sad, melancholy feelings. You with your never ending excuses, line after line of lies that you word so eloquently. You against the world, or something like that. Anchors holding you down, to help you from steering off course. We were all pawns in your game of life. Another person you lined up, to shoot back down again. YOU are what matters. YOU are what holds all this clout.

You, you, and only YOU.

Selfish is, as selfish does. Cherry pick only the things that matter and that fit our needs. Everyone against you. Everyone having what you wanted. Everyone having what you needed. These countless stories of being the warrior in battle, going off to war. As always, only you.

You.

How could I have been so stupid? How could I have been so blind? How could I have believed these stories that were mere myths to an average person. That was you. All you, right?

You.

When I no longer have to pick up the pieces of you, its becoming easier to forget you. When your ghost stops haunting my sleep, it’s easier to forget you. To leave these memories and misplace these feelings of what never was. I could never be that selfish. I could never be that petty. Maybe I was a fool in believing, a fool in deceiving all these lies. You were the master conductor of this orchestrated drama. How delicately you picked at your strings and watched people come back to you. How violently you cut those same strings when they didn’t seem to fit in your world. I could forgive you. Forgive every single perfectly worded explanation. How can I forgive a person, I am already forgetting?

If only you knew how easily people can misplace you. How easily they can forget everything. All I want is to forget everything about you. Its easy to make up mythical stories of battles and wars. Stories about the world being so tragically against you. The minutes turn to hours, the days become months, and like a well dressed villain your name seems to escape me. You are easily forgotten, and forgetting you is easily done.

5/10/2014

 

St. Jude.

I wear my crown of thorns better than the rest of you. I carry forth my sins surrounded by the thousands of saints before me. Because we are all saints, afraid of being sinners. Losing ourselves in this righteous need to be better. Even in our quest of righteousness, we forget that we can still be sinners. We can still fail in the smallest wonders of our need to be great. I forget at times that I can’t always be right, but everyone can’t always point out my wrongs. I may not always be right, but I am not always wrong.

My selfish nature gets the best of me. This constant need to want all the wrong things. Searching through the faces of my wrongs and coming up empty handed. I see these saints with their wooden crosses glued across their chests. Waiting patiently for me to fail, fall, and point out all my wrong doings. I am just one person. Just one person with a life full of sins and a lifetime of making up to do. It doesn’t take a day to build Rome, but takes more than a few words to break down a spirit. I could spend a lifetime changing my ways but its the past that comes back to haunt me. Its my past that doesn’t allow the present to shine through. Its the errors of my ways that allows the countless saints to come forth to “save” me. I don’t need to be saved. I don’t need anything. When its my sins that are counted against me.

Its in this life that I feel like a lost cause. That even praying to St. Jude himself wouldn’t save me. That lighting a thousand candles wouldn’t grant me this one miracle. Cleansing this life clean and washing this slate a thousand times over. Starting over would only bring forth the saints to chase after me with their righteousness. Because everyone else is always right. Its the saints with their fear in the wrong that causes them to believe in their own perfection. Maybe I just need to pretend with the rest of them. Wear my wooden cross glued across my chest to point out the sins of the sinners freely. Even I can’t hide behind a wooden cross. Even saints can be sinners.

St. Jude, I pray to thee to save me from my hopelessness. It’s this life thats a lost cause that needs to be found again. This crown of thorns that has become to unbearable to wear. Its with your will that will help my hopelessness. Its with this power that will cleanse this slate clean. I may not always right, but I know I am not always wrong.

I just wish others saw it too.

7/17/2008