My Awkward Life

“Our scars remind us that the past is real” (“Scars” 1:12–1:14).

— Papa Roach. “Scars.” Getting Away with Murder, Geffen Records, 2004.

Bodies tell the stories of flesh wounds that were once fresh and bleeding.

Behavior tells the stories of cracks the heart once bore.

Memories haunt us, dancing playfully in our minds while we chase a dream, a chance to escape.

Sleep evades us as if it’s running away from our consumption.

To what do we owe this pleasure, of midnight torture?

Leave, leave, leave.

Let me sleep, let me greet my peace.

Let me be, let me grieve my piece.

Help is among the horizon, of golden valleys and greyed rainbows.

Look beyond the pain, open your eyes.

Let me into your heart, make room for love.

Let go of the sadness and sorrow.

Save hope for tomorrow.