new begginings | Sliver of Darkness

I once had a clean slate, that was long before I knew how to write nor how to erase all the letters, the words, the phrases, the sentences and the stories that told of everything the slate wasn’t meant. I believed that the slate was supposed to be as clean as the creator had handed it over to me and only him could write signs on it for me to decipher unraveling the mysteries of life.

This slate was my life, given to me in entirety, a masterpiece of a master potter whose hands weaned the universe to perfection and what a delight is it to know that of all that he created and termed beautiful, I was the best.
I was made the best without a test
But before this could sink deeper into my spiritual being
The world scrapped this zest
Like naked does to vest
Leaving a Confused mind commanded by sirens of the flesh

Life has a way of munching your self-worth, turning your unlimited potential into nothingness, stripping every shred of hope, drying all your sprinkles of happiness leaving a lost soul tempest tossed in an ocean awash with predating tongues of the human variety.

These tongues will whip your self-confidence by forever spitting into your ears that you were born by coincidence, they’ll term your existence an accident crafted by the stubborn spirit of a bastard kid who refused to remain where debris of failed abortions ought to be.

Watch how they throttle your peace, making your nights a restless spree and they mock and laugh at you as the only human being who has not a single dream.
With limiting beliefs and customs they stagnate the flow of your spirits, the spirits that the create meant to roam freely into the invisible world of abundance marinating your life with love, gratitude, self-awareness and a sense of purpose that are essential recipes for happiness.

They’ve injected you with massive doses of self-loathe by muting the whispers of your beauty and making the silence of your flaws louder than sirens as they usher you into the system of make-up, the system of Botox, steroids, collagen and silicon but no make-up can ever make up for the flaws they’ve created in your character.
They’ve poisoned your heart with hate, contempt and cynicism and you wonder why you don’t see anything good in life, you wonder why suicidal thoughts creeps into your mind every other minute when the law of attraction knows that like attracts like and when hate is all you emit into the universe, it is all you’ll get from it.

I checked my slate that I once left clean and I found it filled with all the shit that will make you wish you never lived but what would you expect when you’ve left the doors to your thoughts open and given away the master pen given to you by the creator to write you own destiny?
I have cleaned this slate and now I’m getting ready for a war, I’m getting ready for a war to snatch my pen back, a war to snatch the key to my thoughts back, A war to get my life back.

I'm the last words of a slain poet