Friday, August 18, 2017

They'll Never Know

Gen. 18:21 “I will go down now, and see whether they have done altogether according to the cry of it, which is come unto me; and if not, I will know.”

They’ll Never Know

They’ll never know the loneliness I felt, the emptiness that resided in me. They did nothing and could have done everything. They left me, isolated and alone, out in the pastures of life.

They’ll never know the hours I spent staring out the window, chasing birds with my mind wanting to fly away from the very sedentary life I live. I wanted to live but no one, nothing gave me options, they left me alone.

I am the plague that they fear catching. The disease that they’d rather keep away from their life; the very fear that festers inside of them that they’ll one day have to face alone. It’s no fun this solitude that haunts my mind. It saddens me to think I will die and they’ll never know of my life, my real life.

They’ll see the pictures I painted for them, the fragments as breadcrumbs dropped on the ground for them to follow. They’ll never find the real source of my pain because it is dwelling in them, they’ll never know. They’ll never know that the picture is false; the painter is never the painting it is just an expression of what they see. I am the artist creating an illusion of a world you’ll believe. I am the game endlessly played never to be won. I am your addiction, the one thing you need to be real.

Deep down I am the smear, the painting went wrong, the mistakes you’ll never see. I am the routine never to be broken. I am the vase sitting on the shelf with no flowers. I am the desert, dry and never to be rained upon. The hour never to be changed, the life day in and day out staring into a windowed world sharing a love for people I’ll never meet, a spiritual family that deeply cared from afar.

They’ll never know the turmoil I faced. They’ll think I was strong because I never allowed the shards of glass to cut them open. I only allowed the brokenness to shut me down to leave me vulnerable to what it is that surrounds me in my physical world. Alone, I am alone and pained by my surroundings. 

They’ll live thinking they did everything and knowing they did absolutely nothing. They’ll never know I was used, abused and diffused; a live wire with no connection to sustain the energy that thrives within me. I loved too hard, I shined too bright, and I was everything they were not nor ever could be.

There can be no healing as long as I’m demeaned, pushed down into the box and smothered. I spring forward like a jack-in-the-box daily with my polka-dot suit and painted smile I show everyone what they want to see. I make them smile waxing nostalgic over the times of their youth when they cranked the music and watched as the toy came bouncing into life. They never saw the real me, they’ll never know.

The blood, they claimed to love but they’ll never know that it was only I who loved and they shed me like dry skin to be swept away from the scene. I became the disease that they dreaded to see; they dared not look at. They went on in their fantasy playing charades and showing the world their imagined perfect life. They lived while I died, but they’ll never know.

To sum it all up, I was flourishing in the warmth of the sun, growing and turning towards the sunlight as the orb drifted overhead and I carried the rays like a candle into the night to show me the way. Then one day in all my splendor I was mowed over, severed and left in mere rubble, kicked about and wiped off the bottom of the shoe, I was done. To them I am nothing, to me I am all, to Him I am worthy. I am everything. In their obscured selfish bliss, they’ll never know.

Who are they? They are the ones who sat in their passive state and said they cared. They are the ones who did nothing as my body slowly withered and decayed. They are the ones who afterward wondered what they didn’t do carrying guilt like a different handbag of the week. They are the ones who went on, to live, to breathe. They know who they are but then again, they’ll never really know.

Ezek. 39:8 “Behold, it is come, and it is done, saith the Lord GOD; this is the day whereof I have spoken.”

4 comments:

benning said...

"They" are not what makes you live. "They" don't count. Jesus counts, cares, and loves you. Who needs more than that? *Hugs!* <3

joni said...

Thanks, Ben. I waited all day to hear that.

<3 *hugs*

benning said...

<3

Carry on! :D

joni said...

Yes sir!

*hugs*

*runs*

:D

<3