When you go to your tree to collect your fruit, you have quite an odd pick.
What do you do when you see the beauties?
You pass right by them.
You don't acknowledge the organic benefits that can strengthen your life (and mine.)
Instead, you ignore the loud calling from the fresh fruit that's ready for picking,
and you reach for the rotten ones,
that shouldn't even catch a second glance from you.
You reach for the rotting envy.
You reach for the molded truth.
You reach for the lies that stink with a despicable masquerade.
You reach for wilted grayness that is never held accountable.
These are the fruits that you pull down from the tree and put into your basket.
These are not good for you.
Keep them around,
and they'll burst with the unhealthy judgement that you carry within.
Will this be eternal?
Is that all you will reap?
YOU ARE READING
Dear Suicide...
Poetry(#12 in Poetry- 3/5/17 |14 in Poetry- 2/28/17 |23 in Poetry- 11/18/16) Have you ever considered picking up a pen and writing to the one you fear most? Well, that's what I've done. When I write to my fears, It's oddly satisfying, because I know that...
