Melancholy is sleeping with Truth Yeah, I realized that we can't smile all of the time. And I know that I am happy. I love my life, but my writing always is a little um...dark. But it always bothered me to say dark, because I'm not a dark person. And then someone described it as melancholy and I like that better :) So here it is.
Melancholy seems to follow me.
It's part of the blue print for
my defective body.
It's the blue tint of my female
responsibility.
I try to smile.
It's not like it hurts,
but melancholy seems to always slip
into my words
and spreads like a rampant infection.
I'm sure there is a cure out there somewhere.
But I'm not entirely sure that I care.
In sadness, we speak the truth
because we are shackled too it.
It's proof that a heart beats red
in our chest.
Truth's finest hour, when it's at its best,
is that time when happiness turns sour.
That's when it throbs with power,
because it can't hide behind
well placed lies.
The truth comes out when we cry.
I smile as much as the next guy,
but I guess there is just an inherent
sadness behind my eyes.
It's inherited down from one woman
to another.
A survival instinct given to us by our mothers.
We are brought to our knees
because the glass ceiling is a little
too low,
and our backs hunch like the old
because equality is comin along a
little too slow.
But still,
women have become more.
Yes....our little girls can be seen,
can be seen as more than just a quick score.
Not just bumps in their bellies
and bows in their hair,
vacant eyes,
and mindless stares.
Yes...we've come a long way
but still aren't quite there.
But there will come a day when
the melancholy truth breaks through
and burns the quiet truce
our tongues made with the world
to be able to get through the day.
In the meantime,
we'll keep that glass ceiling clean.
Keep our bodies trim and lean,
so others can lean on us for support.
And we'll do it all in high heels
and short skirts.
And we'll tell ourselves that the blisters
on our feet aren't real and don't hurt.
We will tell our hearts to be patient
even though they yearn for greatness.
Because at a young age,
we were sold a lie
that good girls do as they are told.
So...we swallow our pride
and quietly grow old and then die,
because that's what we were told to do.
But inside our heads, Melancholy is in bed..
smokin a cigarette..with Truth. |
