hurtlog

Why does life feel like this?
							
							It’s functioning perfectly.
							It works exactly as intended.
							You’re not the problem.
							The problem is that you were told to adapt
							to something inhumane
							and call it progress.

And still they say,
							“Trust his plan.”
							If this is the plan,
							it’s monstrous.
							
							What kind of plan feeds the wolves
							and starves the lambs?
							What kind of god lets the guilty grow rich
							while the innocent rot?
							
							Don’t tell me it’s a lesson.
							What lesson demands this much blood?
							
							If this is love,
							then love is violence.
							
							If he exists,
							then he is complicit.
							And if he doesn’t,
							we are still alone.

They will say:
							“You should’ve asked for help.”
							Then shame you
							for not holding it all alone.
							
							This world does not care
							if you’re dying
							as long as you don’t leave blood all over the sidewalk.

Guilt does not purify me.
							
							I seek release in silence,
							peace that won't arrive,
							held captive by my conscience,
							barely feeling alive.
							
							Though guilt may never leave me,
							I struggle to believe,
							that someday I'll forgive myself,
							and learn how to relieve.

A bell rope dangles from the ceiling,
							frayed from where fingers once clutched it in desperation.
							It hasn't rung in years, but it could
							
							and that's the cruelty of it
							the possibility
							
							The ache of what might still happen
							if someone, someday,
							pulled again.