i hope i always have because no matter how much i try to hold myself behind my window ledge i'm either tempted to fly or someone comes and pushes me from behind and either way, i fall apart.
i do not hate myself for the times i give into my temptations of hoping i take my blame and point all my fingers at my naive mind because hating myself is often easier than loving myself however, when i am pushed from behind and misled into having hope my hate changes into disappointment and my disappointment into hurt and my hurt into hate because hating myself is often easier than loving myself.
so i burn everything down the very crux of hope the thoughts, the will and i ground myself on the floor and tie my feet and my heart in chains that i do not have keys to in an attempt to being kind to myself.
but on days when i see a clear blue sky my eyes search far and wide and i hope because i always have and no matter how much i try to hold myself behind my window ledge i'm either tempted to fly or someone comes and pushes me from behind and either way, i fall apart.
Preconceived opinions not based on actual reasons people perceive to justify their own beliefs Prejudice is a deceitful saint sheltered under sanatic mindset where distinctions carry profuse dimensions combine to reflect single ray of preconception.
They feel prejudice towards people who deviate from long established social norms who break the pattern of what looks 'normal' like a tree that is slightly crooked in a row of straight trees along some lonely road or the patch of paint on the bedroom wall just a shade darker than the rest of the room.
Bigoted views aren't screwed in minds when born neither consumed in capsules coated with stereotypes those are buried in packets by smugglers who export their insecurities and aversion to hide them deep in those brain boxes too raw to erase the boundary of discrimination.
They are walking molten rocks all of vexed volcanoes who hurl loathsome vapours through air and make them drip everywhere drowned minds in sulphurated destruction often divide the world into categories of "us"and "them."
Frustrated to obliterate we compress string but it stems foward again in full swing we sweep away from the surface grounds thinking it will definitely cease but it remains hidden from halogen spotlights where fairness is a ghost ship lost at sea.