In the prison of my mind and heart, I wonder how many times I can remain open and trusting.  I had always believed that the path of love is filled with sacrifice and unselfishness.  Time and time again, I’ve been reminded that I must love myself first, but I cannot solve the equation.  I cannot understand how I manifest the very love I seek to avoid.  Like a moth drawn to the flame, though, I run, chase, and beg for the poison to infest my life and consume my smile.  It’s as if my heart itself has Alzheimer’s, and cannot remember the pain caused, only the sly words that opened me in the first place.  My mind seemingly has dementia, or maybe I am insane.  I somehow keep hoping that the pain will stop and the love will somehow appear.

At least scar tissue doesn’t have nerve endings, I suppose.  As a student of life, my teacher must be rather tired of me.  I wish I would stop being the class clown.


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