Composition of Misconception

 

I think, I know, blame like hot potato

Feel free to pass it from you to me;

From mother, to father, to brother.

Arguments turn into simple hurls of liability

Like reaching for something that isn’t there.

And the children's game grows into an adult battle of wits

Whoever can provide a better reason,

Wins

But what about winning is enticing?

Is it the promise of being right or the taste of “you are wrong”?

Thus creating earthquakes and landslides of paradoxes 

Where I can be right and wrong

Burning and frozen

Lumpy and thin.

 

The raging hot potato strikes the core.

A sharp pain, 

A wild argument.

Where evidence is second to none,

Drier than the Sahara Desert.

Strike a heart but mercifully let them live,

Only to have another shot,

Another angle of which we ricochet the blame further

Where the effect disseminates further and further.

 

When I vomit the words from the core, 

It’s met with dissatisfaction and a need for evidence,

As if my feelings fit the computer binary that you’ve trapped me within.

Millions of ones and zeroes, trying to make something out of irrationality. 

Every one is a reminder of responsibility,

Every zero is every failure I’ve ever done.

The combination, a mix of code like a lab experiment

Making what?

It’s simply to relay words,

As if each word makes a different meaning,

A different sound

And reason becomes the pin and needle that sews this blame together.

For there are degrees and decrees of “you know better”

And there are losses we cannot fathom

Such as the loss of what we know is

Ourselves.

Insecurity, the heat to the potato. 

Doubt and paranoia create fire.

A distrust burns the holder's hands,

Me, a prisoner of penance, 

Confined to the restraint of ignorance.

Chained to what they’ve said

Bound to tears bursting into an ocean.

Tides and waves of remorse for what I’ve said

Criticism however well intended, spurts this malicious feeling

Like a damn breaking, the baneful energy comes out

A side of us we knew but didn’t want

The wrathful reservoir floods our heads

 

The insults sink deeper within this ocean of guilt. 

When we drop the hot potato within it.

Let it get swept in between waves of “your fault”

Opposing forces.

A potato of insecurity so hot that it must be passed 

And an overwhelming ocean of remorse

Since shame is a liquid

Slipping and sliding to weigh us down the most.

How can words be this cruel to someone?

String them together like a necklace

Each word is a link to another link

Link by link, chain by chain,

We wear these insults,

Then give them to others.

Why must we take them? 

Reject them

Mirroring the feeling is the outside

 

My body, not cut from the same leather as you

Shearing the perfection

Saving it for others

Hiding from the truth is what makes insults “fun”

The lumping of fault makes the potato

For the hot potato is burning through logic and reasoning.

And release all negative thoughts unto the next person. 

 

It’s jarring how others have the freedom;

Judgemental mother, 

Scolding father, 

Hopeless brother, 

When the passing peters out,

It’s always left with me.

People pass the incessant rumors of deceitful truths

While also making reasons why I shouldn’t be trusted

I know that I’m the one who isn’t trusted!

The black sheep.

However, is it my true feelings that you hate, 

Or rather the ones that are fake?

For my fate was never to be the black sheep,

It was only to distract you from your worries

A departure from fate and a journey in what should’ve been

A better mother who always cared

A better father who could be home all the time. 

A better brother who never did wrong

A better child who never lied

 

Feasts of grandeur for all to see.

Starved for attention,

The people resort to savagery.

Overloading those with blame 

And letting themselves go.

A fall from grace into the pit of despair

More shame than can be believed

And more blame than what was previously there.

This dystopian society of blame.

Those who have faults get put down like a sick animal,

And the savage win.

However, ending this savagery is harder than hitting rock bottom

The words spoken break a fragile brain.

A brain so fragile that we may not be able to fix 

The irreparable damage we have done.

They have said “adversity makes us stronger”

But adversity is no protein,

It doesn’t make us stronger by just being there

It is when we learn and make our own solutions that we get stronger.

 

Blame is the sickness that we all must face

And it’s malevolent satisfaction it gives when passed

Is what’s keeping the virus powerful.

Because shame and guilt are a virus.

They spread to everyone, even me

And clouds the once innocent judgment we thought we had

That is the true delusion that we all must strike;

That we are immune to such disease

As if we are the only and else is other

Such to the point that we forget

That everyone thinks this way.

The virus pollutes the air we breathe

Yet we do not at first notice what we have done.

 

I have set this glass ceiling for myself,

But I won’t let it make me worse

I’ll touch the touchy subject

No more passing, no more doubt

I see the face of a loving mother

Whose only goal is to keep me safe

The work ethic of a wonderful father

Who has only the best intentions

And a hopeful brother

Miles ahead of expectation.

This time, 

I won’t be pulled down by insecurity

Cool the potato

Let the emotions be controlled

Yes, I will

This time.

Face the demons of the hot potato.