Heaven 21

In Heaven, everything would be perfect,

Deadly edges of neglect at my loved ones' necks

would be dulled and I'd be free to pursue

my passion of rendering their faces on a canvas,

Heaven's beauty couldn't be spoken,

it'd be infinite, unchanging, never diluded, 

my raptures of music couldn't steal my eye's moments, 

With mere possessions now easily manifested,

I'd disregard old debts, no longer forcing forth 

altruism with teeth clenched, 

I'd be free with nothing restricting me, 

any guidance would be accepted willingly, 

without any insecurities concerning my capabilities, 

My anxieties born from deadlines would melt 

alongside traditional days to be replaced 

with waves of euphoria and progression when I decide, 

Gone would be my desire to dance with flawless angels, 

because as much as I clench and step on time, 

the dance breaks as their heart beats warmer than mine, 

The anger I foster towards myself 

for mistakes I've made by my own hands 

would seep through my fingertips with the utmost stealth, 

Everything would be perfect in Heaven, 

but I don't believe in Heaven, 

I was once sheltered and protected, 

and when I felt the cold world, outside the bubble, my conceptions popped,

streetlights took on a different hue, I lost sense of the kind of people I was talking to, 

I lost the necessary faith for cherubs and tangibe clouds, 

these muses were replaced by filthy rugs and invasive city sounds, 

I'm laden with anxieties, 

anxieties I wish i didn't have, 

doubts and regrets that drive me mad,

I still keep bruises from collapsing episodes from inside of empty bathroom stalls, but I embrace it all, 

because in Heaven, I wouldn't understand the feeling of sunshine on my face,

long days, heartbreaks, bitter mistakes I've made 

all come with the pursuit of sunshine, 

I'm content with the sun on my sore back, and leaving footprints in the shifting sands. 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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