It's Raining Again...

As of late, I've been doing a lot of self psychoanalysis. It's not that I've ever taken any psychology courses - God knows I would become the world's biggest pain in the ass as I attempted to diagnose everyone's behavior. I've simply just been asking myself why I do the things that I do.

There are a lot of things in my life that have become unnecessary. Certain places that I used to love to go to, certain habits that I've had, and certain friends are all getting axed, simply because they are no longer relevant. It isn't because I don't cherish the time I have had in those places, doing those things with those people. It is simply that I've gotten to a point in my life where they no longer have a role in shaping my person. They've served their purpose, and it is time to move on. And as I come to that realization that they are no longer relevant, I catch myself wondering: why do I even bother with them anymore?

It is a part of growing up. I have accepted that. But what I cannot accept is that is has to happen so suddenly, and yet so painstakingly slow. Why must it be this way? I suppose it is a part of being human. We must feel pain in order to understand the weight of our decisions.

The Merits of an Adhesive Bandage

Blood red like crimson poppies, the tear in my flesh
drips fresh and warm, passion's ink marks my skin.
A fresh wound in my heart, life's black clouds lingering,
smoking out the fire in my eyes.

Then there you came, and you stuck to me, staunched the flow.
A finger for the crack in the dyke, you slipped in and made a vow to stay
until the flood had been dammed.

Years and years pass on, the stone turns to moss and rubble, and skin
turns anew, pale and nubile, and the world is becoming around me.
The small meek child is transformed, and head held high, I find
I can walk on my own two feet. My confidence is restored.

It is time to pull the bandage off, but it's been a lifetime for me.
The colors have blended, and it has merged into unison,
yet the crust of two differing substances has emerged, sickly and green.
It is time to release, time to pull away the aching finger. Time
to put the bedtime story back in the cupboard, for childhood
has vanished.

I pull on the edge of the strip, knowing its uses,
knowing that it has done so much, knowing that in that time,
it would come to find an end.
The glue bonds to the hairs on my skin, and so stinging is the pain
that erupts from pulling away.
It is slow at first. Slowly comes the first millimeter, and then the next.
Then it picks up speed. All of a sudden, there's a rip - a cursing rush,
why, why did ever I attach you there?
In what world did you ever serve me any purpose?

It is done now. The dam is blocked. The door is closed.
And the scab has fallen away, healed and intact.
All there is left now is a red mark and a few bits of adhesive
that soon shall fade.