Hurt People Hurt People (AI art designed by Samira Wyld)
In the dimly lit corridors of human connection, there exists a painful paradox that often goes unnoticed until the damage is done. Friends, those chosen companions on the journey through life, are sometimes the architects of each other’s destruction. This intricate tapestry of hurt is woven from the threads of pride, ego, and the harsh judgments that bind us, creating a dark narrative that leaves wounds that may never fully heal.
In the pursuit of financial stability during challenging times, I stumbled upon a documentary that not only caught my attention but also left an indelible mark on my perspective. The film follows the incredible journey of four young men who embark on a daring adventure into rural Guatemala, seeking to unravel the mysteries of survival on just one dollar a day.
While this website is currently undergoing some major changes, I figured there is still no reason not to blog in the meantime, and keep you in the loop. I will be combining all three websites to just one, this ONE, so yay, I’m glad you’re here 🙂 More on that later…
Photo: Wyld Photography
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So, now to the writing. Grab yourself a cuppa or beverage of your choice and sit back and enjoy. All feedback welcome 🙂
From my collection of poetry, A Wyld Love Note,
RENEWAL
What’s mine is mine because what was yours you took without a care or a look.
Have a laugh and watch the fall, Oh, the cliche of it all, of love, hearts, and sunken ships of broken bones, and jagged hips, the torn up kiss, from the bloodied lips.
Life will never be the same, it’s not supposed to be, re-invention of who we are is nothing new to me, and as I delete your last frame, I’ve already forgotten your fucking name.’
I want to jump off a bridge, ‘The bridge is too high’, they said But what you don’t understand is, ‘I want to die, and be forever dead’.
It’s cold where I stand, the breeze falls upon my shoulder, it’s high up here, and I wonder where will I land, Is it there? where the concrete is stark and bare, Or here? where the graveyard meets the lair, Perhaps over there? where the grass is greener, it’s always greener over there, but really, do I care? so long as I close my eyes, and open them in the neverwhere.
How long have I been standing here? Waiting, Waiting, Just waiting, For a car to come, A person to run, My phone to ring, A bird to sing, Waiting for courage amidst the flourish of the naysayers, and self-righteous beggars of the thief, who wouldn’t understand why a caterpillar needs a leaf.
I shake from the cold my clothes barely cover the scars of my attempted fold, of skin over skin, and the horrid laughing, and ridicule from within.
The layers of dark now leave me with mo more verbal attack, and no light to draw me back, Alone, Alone, shaking with fear on a bridge too high, from where I will jump, and find the courage to die.’
The bridge between us cannot last, for I have cast all hate and ridicule down the mast of obvious denial, setting my heart on trial. I want to hate you, I truly do, the things you’ve said and done can never be forgotten, the harm, the pain inflicted is vile and rotten.
But you lie in your bed made of untruths, in an awkward disposition, mangled and torn, hurting and hating on the one who loved you, deeply, truly, madly, Yes, you are right mon amour, it can’t be undone the blackness of hate, vile words spoken, showing a deeper truth, your love was merely a token, nothing deeper or meaningful, like I had believed, I know you are relieved, your final words pushed me away forever, And even though the bridge between us can’t last, our love was butchered at the hands of your fury, so now we stand at the precipice gazing at one another, Silently longing, Silently holding on to a forgotten feather, that once held us together.
