Conflict

I should have started writing this poem years ago

When I witnessed the jars and jabs firsthand

That stems from a spirit that’s traveled a harsh and brutal land

Conflict

when two forces meet each other there arises a

Conflict

When a mother and father grow weary in loving and grow stronger in striking

Conflict

Why does everywhere I lay my head on a pillow or on a desk, there is a

Conflict

So much conflict

This may seem stubborn and self-assuming

But maybe while the two parties are fuming

My input states that a breath should enter

A rest

A calm

Take 3-beats of an inhale and 3 more beats of an exhale

Calm the fuck down!

Nothing can be resolved or reconciled while you spit and revile at one another

This idea might seem to astronomical to consider

considering that only the considerate consider the feelings of the other

However this task is not insurmountable

It’s truly divine

Turn your eyes to the heavens and gaze

Upon a constellation that epitomizes equality and grace

The Libra, elegant and poised

Not shaken, not stirred

The scales of the Libra never tip

There’s not tremor or quake

No rip of the lip

That’s who I am

A Libra who just wants peace

And by the end of this poem I hope I have reached a peace

Because my heart is being fractured, broken piece by piece

The knife slices and dices and cuts the fragments

A knife formed by conflict

Mother-fucking conflict

The same conflict that tore my dad away from my mom

The same conflict that tore these girls away from my arm

The same conflict that points me towards the pills to die

For I want to die

I wanted God to make me into a bird so I could fly so very High

I wanted to die

The only escape I saw ahead of me was waiting at the end of a tunnel of light

I wanted to die

I wanted to sleep permanently

I wanted to close my eyes and never open them again and finally, finally shut my eyes of this conflict

But,

I realized,

That this great mass of conflict had come together, glued itself to itself and

For the sake of my health and well-being

Served as my step-stool

Don’t the Bible say “He’ll make you’re enemies your footstool?”

I’ll have to look that up later but right now I have some climbing to do

I’m attacking this conflict mountain one foothold at a time

I’m pushing away this suicidal barge one shove at a time

I’m walking this walk of life one footfall at a time

Because one day

I will look back and thank God for all of this

Conflict.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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