We are altogether too young, too beautiful and too promising, 

too beloved to be so desperately unhappy and bitter.

We are too young to hold so much hurt and pain and heartbreak. 

And yet it overflows from within us



Why are we so careless with ourselves?

With the selves of other people?

With the souls of other people?

With the sacred souls, of other sacred souls?



Why do we smell like loss and tears?

Why do we sound like hurt and pain?

A wailing, a gnashing, a sighing, a hurting.

A deep and unforgiving hurt. 



We are altogether too young and precious to be so saddled with tiredness and hurt.

And yet the tiredness hangs from our bones.

The resignation in our eyes. The heaviness in our hearts. The darkness in our spirits.  



Why do we not see that we have infinity and magic in us?

Why can it not carry us through the days? Through the dark? Why won’t we let it?

Why do we look like death? Smell like loss?  Taste like fear? Move like shadows? 

Why are we so stubborn? So insistent on our ways?


So careless. So tragically careless and wasteful. 

So careless. So wasteful. Heartbreakingly so. 

We act like we have more.

Like we can scrub away the scars we so unflinchingly inflict.

Like we can start over unscathed.

We wage war on ourselves.







We are a tragedy.

So careless.

So wasteful.



Matilda Nengare 13.04.13. 


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