The Light

How can you tell someone how you feel when you don't know?
How can you love someone when you can't love yourself?
How can you be normal when you don't know what it is?
How can you be happy when you have never been?
And how can you tell if you are happy?

What is your greatest sin? 
Is it your ungrateful attitude?

How can you tell when you really know someone?
You may think you do, but then they do something to shock you.
 Is that what you call knowing someone?
Can you never really know someone if you don't know yourself?

So many people have so many vises that bind them.
What is yours, and can you break free?

If you knew the dark side of your soul would you be disgusted?
And if you knew others darkness would you be afraid of their potential danger?
We are all human -capable of love an hate. 
Some show more love while others show more hate.
To be a healthy person they say you must face your demons and destroy their influences.
It is a dark task to break your habits and learn better ones, but it is not impossible.

Hope is a virtue that I possess too much of. 
Faith is a virtue I need to recover. 
Contentment is something I have hardly ever felt. 
Love is somewhere in the shadows lurking around me, but I can't find it. 
Hate is an emotion that my desperation feeds on and the vileness increases.\

If I am supposed to be a light then I need a new bulb!
Cynical of my own faults I can't move past the pain.
Everyone wears a mask to hide their true selves. 
To disguise their pain, misery, agony, disappointments, secrets, lusts, love, and rage.
It is a procedure that should be avoided, but we can't remove it. 
The greatest tragedy we face is not being truthful to ourselves and others. 
What will it take for our hearts to be free?
Or our souls to be mended?

(Written by Amy E. McCoy 2000)

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One Woman's Pain

I tire and hunger for rest from humanity. I've grown bitter due to constant heartache. Oft times I have wondered what kept me caring, functioning, or even motivated. Then I realized it has all been a means of escape. 

To what end?

What is the purpose of being? I do not see one, save it misery. I am exhausted by the high road; of being so damn objective and fair. 

I want t scream until my lings burst. I have come to another crossroad. 

Frankly I am disgusted with crossroads; this being the hundredth one. 

Once more I must choose a path, but either way it will no doubt end with disappointment. 

The creeping fear of a life without joy tends to soften my anger and deepen my sorrow. 

I feel as if my hardships have much more than scarred me. 

Honestly, does it matter one woman's pain? 

(Written by Amy E. McCoy 2-13-06)

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