Grown Ups Don’t Tell

Words mama and daddy never say…

Little girl, no one cares what you get. Awards in a box. Degrees in a drawer. The boss man, the next door neighbor, the postman, ain’t no one going to care about what you’ve done, what you’ll do. The self is what’s on their mind. 

Miracles. God’s intervention. But no one likes to talk about the non-miracles. The times when God’s head seems turned away. Doesn’t it say just as much when a God chooses not to act? Inaction has powerful revelations, too. Ask the bodies of dead Jews, gypsies, gays, of women called witches and burned at stakes…Why didn’t God CHOOSE to act, to create a miracle when whole worlds seemed to cry out, to ask for God to come down from on high. And after all these years, the history, the atrocities, it isn’t enough to say God is a mysterious being, can’t go understanding the incomprehensible…then don’t be giving credit for the good if you can’t give credit for the bad.

Lives are webs woven of experience and lies, and to find anything of real truth is a difficult, but deeply cherished thing.

This is a world of the Lost. Life didn’t go their way. And they fill up on tv, internet, drugs, and drink to make it better. To feel a lot of nothin’. When you find solace in one of these things, don’t be fearful, find a new way, get out, run, curse what everyone else has become. 

These are things that go unsaid. Don’t know why. Had I known this a bit younger, how different things would have gone. No use in crying, it can’t be undone. Just keep an eye to the future, weave it how I see fit. And in my pocket the fading words of Isadora…”You were once wild here. Don’t Let them tame you.”

This entry was published on July 6, 2009 at 1:11 am and is filed under Nonfiction, Philosophy, Sociology. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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