Before the World Changed Me

 

I wish you knew me before the world changed me.

Or rather 

I wish you had the chance of knowing me before the world took its toll.

I can’t cross the threshold of my own house.

And by some miracle, if I do,

I can’t make it past the gate.

I am a prisoner 

of my own making.

And somehow, I’ve either misplaced the key,

or thrown it away entirely.

I’m stuck.

And there’s this sick, sinking feeling 

that I’ll die here.

And no one will save me.

Only a few will come to retrieve the body,

drawn not by worry,

but by the odor,

and the abnormal silence of someone

who once stirred the world with their presence.

I’ll never see the world the way my father did —

the way he painted it in stories

of planes and passports,

continents and history in motion.

I might never have children of my own.

Might never live the life I carry in my head,

because my spirit is fractured,

my soul — debilitated.

And I don’t know how to put myself back together.

Worse,

I don’t know how to ask for help.

And I don’t know if God is still listening.

I’m told He is 

but I don’t know if I have the strength

to knock one more time,

only to be turned away again.

It hurts.

And the worst part?

There’s no blood.

No wound to justify

what I feel.

I am whole,

in the way that fools the eye 

but I refuse to care for myself,

because what’s the point?

I have nothing to live for.

And yet 

every morning,

something bigger than me

places breath in my lungs.

Gives me one more day

to do…

I don’t know what.

But I want to know.

Before it’s too late.