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Literature Text
they stood us on empty air,
can't see that well from there.
they say I shouldn't care--
"just find your place and stare."
all of the things, they put all of these things in stacks,
and there's too many things in me,
and all of them are blank pages
and holes
and gaps.
don't know what I am now,
can't sleep—I don't know how.
there's dust on my wrinkled brow
and the noise in my eyes is loud.
maybe I died a long time ago.
turn it off,
turn it off,
turn off the blinking rage.
turn it off,
turn it off
and turn the page:
you're just a whisper too.
tell me:
what do we do?
what are we supposed to do?
they put us in a box,
and filled our hands with rocks,
told us if we got lost,
we'd have to pull the stops.
they lied,
they lied to us.
they never wanted us to live.
the truth was they were all scared too,
and they had nothing else to give.
they did what they told themselves they must,
hid the truth and took our hope
watched all their treasures rust,
and their master tie his rope.
they took our hearts away,
made us afraid to pray,
filled with what we can't say,
we have only fears.
and we have our ways to die,
but no way to sit and cry,
convinced that our pain's a lie
and nobody hears.
can you hear me screaming—
beating against the door?
I keep trying to shed my tears,
but they might be no more.
I'm stuck here in this smiling eye—
can you even see me?
I'm trying to get out but I
can't seem to find the key.
don't make me go to sleep,
I still have yet to weep.
these oceans are way too deep;
and I'm barely on my feet.
(I might be dead already)
I still have yet to weep,
and I'm barely on my feet.
(might be dead)
please, won't you let me weep—
I need to rest my feet.
show me the way to weep,
I need to get some sleep:
and no,
no I'm not dead yet.
can't see that well from there.
they say I shouldn't care--
"just find your place and stare."
all of the things, they put all of these things in stacks,
and there's too many things in me,
and all of them are blank pages
and holes
and gaps.
don't know what I am now,
can't sleep—I don't know how.
there's dust on my wrinkled brow
and the noise in my eyes is loud.
maybe I died a long time ago.
turn it off,
turn it off,
turn off the blinking rage.
turn it off,
turn it off
and turn the page:
you're just a whisper too.
tell me:
what do we do?
what are we supposed to do?
they put us in a box,
and filled our hands with rocks,
told us if we got lost,
we'd have to pull the stops.
they lied,
they lied to us.
they never wanted us to live.
the truth was they were all scared too,
and they had nothing else to give.
they did what they told themselves they must,
hid the truth and took our hope
watched all their treasures rust,
and their master tie his rope.
they took our hearts away,
made us afraid to pray,
filled with what we can't say,
we have only fears.
and we have our ways to die,
but no way to sit and cry,
convinced that our pain's a lie
and nobody hears.
can you hear me screaming—
beating against the door?
I keep trying to shed my tears,
but they might be no more.
I'm stuck here in this smiling eye—
can you even see me?
I'm trying to get out but I
can't seem to find the key.
don't make me go to sleep,
I still have yet to weep.
these oceans are way too deep;
and I'm barely on my feet.
(I might be dead already)
I still have yet to weep,
and I'm barely on my feet.
(might be dead)
please, won't you let me weep—
I need to rest my feet.
show me the way to weep,
I need to get some sleep:
and no,
no I'm not dead yet.
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I grew up in a strange environment--I was born into and raised in a church known loosely known as "the Assembly" which began as a Jesus movement and slowly developed into a power-hungry, controlling and spiritually abusive organization that took over its members lives and destroyed them bit by bit with skewed theology, mind games, guilt and abuse of all sorts.
I grew up there being filled with the belief of my own self-worthlessness and indoctrinated with lies that ensured I could never be good enough, never be good at all. Luckily, I got out of it when I was eleven years old, found healthy people and the "real world" out there, and luckily--God didn't let go of me through it, the real God, not the one they tried to paint before my eyes. I'm a surviver, but I'm also a casualty, crippled in ways I'm only just discovering by the world that reared my innocent child's mind.
I've only just come into the realization of the scars I bear now because of it, it's crazy--it never occurred to me before two months ago that it had any hold on me at all, but in the process of exploring and owning up to my own past--I'm learning so much about who I am, and who I want to be...and a heck of a lot about who I don't want to be. I won't be what they tried to make me, I won't be weak, and I won't believe the lies they put in my head.
God is good, he's not a monster. God is loving, he's not cruel, and I am passionately pursued, not worthless.
These sorts of things are bigger and more common than most people realize--it's an issue that needs to be heard because, as a victim myself I know what it's like to be damaged and not even realize, to have been made to live in submission, believing that any pain I feel is my own fault.
If anyone wants to talk, send me a message, I'd love to talk with you--whether you've been through something similar, are questioning a situation you're currently in, or just want to know more: I'm game.
God IS good people, and it is man, not God that destroys lives. You're not alone. And you never were.
(c) breathinlife
all the glory to God, the real one--the one They couldn't take from me and never will
I grew up there being filled with the belief of my own self-worthlessness and indoctrinated with lies that ensured I could never be good enough, never be good at all. Luckily, I got out of it when I was eleven years old, found healthy people and the "real world" out there, and luckily--God didn't let go of me through it, the real God, not the one they tried to paint before my eyes. I'm a surviver, but I'm also a casualty, crippled in ways I'm only just discovering by the world that reared my innocent child's mind.
I've only just come into the realization of the scars I bear now because of it, it's crazy--it never occurred to me before two months ago that it had any hold on me at all, but in the process of exploring and owning up to my own past--I'm learning so much about who I am, and who I want to be...and a heck of a lot about who I don't want to be. I won't be what they tried to make me, I won't be weak, and I won't believe the lies they put in my head.
God is good, he's not a monster. God is loving, he's not cruel, and I am passionately pursued, not worthless.
These sorts of things are bigger and more common than most people realize--it's an issue that needs to be heard because, as a victim myself I know what it's like to be damaged and not even realize, to have been made to live in submission, believing that any pain I feel is my own fault.
If anyone wants to talk, send me a message, I'd love to talk with you--whether you've been through something similar, are questioning a situation you're currently in, or just want to know more: I'm game.
God IS good people, and it is man, not God that destroys lives. You're not alone. And you never were.
(c) breathinlife
all the glory to God, the real one--the one They couldn't take from me and never will
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This was amazing