When I listen to Macy Gray I hear a voice of hurt.
A voice which cracks at the thought of cracked and broken memories.
She has the power to make us dance with tears in our eyes,
Beneath the pouring rain falling down
Mini droplets splashing into smaller bits that are left unnoticed.
Like Macy’s Creep
Wanting “a perfect body” and “a perfect soul”.
If others are special when do we take the time to find what’s special in us?
The whole point is to see where we belong right?
So we start to explore
Once we look into the mirror and compare ourselves to other beings
The eating or restriction of eating begins
Along with the illicit illegalities we
Try to climb the ladder to reach a higher being,
Begin to being.
Then you have our personal connections
With mom and dad
With our brother and sisters
With our friends and colleagues or peers
Whoever we identify them as
They are a reflection of us.
They build us up and we snip out
The one’s who bring us down.
There is no concept of the weakest link just
The weakest self.
Our personal struggles that pull
Together the strings of our souls.
We look for other outlets
Other ways in and ways out.
Until we reach a dark place
And our reflection exists no more.
We continue throughout our lives to search
For ourselves but fail to realize
We begin with a blank map, a blank slate,
That leads to our destiny,
Which has started and ended,
Unaware that it was predetermined.
Drowning for the love of ourselves not others.
No one throws forth the rafts or anchors.