This song makes me cry. Without fail. I can't think of a single time I have heard this song and NOT cried. I also have A Little More from Skillet and it too makes me cry. Without fail. Every time.
A good friend sent me both of these songs. He is a huge Skillet fan. And of all the songs I have ever recieved from anyone, those two songs are my favorite. No question. At all. I have yet to get sick of them. There is just a chord struck between my heart and the lyrics and the music. It resonates all the way down into my soul and breaks my heart every time. In the best way possible. And it wrenches tears from me. The next time I reward myself, I have decided that it will DEFINITELY be with Skillet's Collide cd. Just so I can blast those two songs from my stereo any time I want to. Two of my utmost favorite songs in the entire world. I cannot deny that. There are just some songs that are that way. There may be much better out there lyrically and musically but that isn't really the point. It is how the music affects me. And this reaches me. So much. So strongly. I am definitely rethinking skipping out on a Skillet concert. I should go. Although to hear either of those songs live I might have a nervous breakdown, weeping fit, but I think I need that.
Today is being a wretched day. I am feeling wretched. Just plain wretched. Of course having the day starting out with a nightmare come true did not help one bit. No, I won't share the details. I gave as much as I cared to. But otherwise I have done a lot of languishing. I choose to toss myself onto a bed or into a chair and lay across it and stare at things. I can usually also be heard humming. Songs of choice? Sometimes I will rock and sing "Hush Little Baby" to myself, and sometimes I will hum dark melodies composed in my brain on the spot. All very bad considering my musical talent *coughnexttononecough* but all the same I make up dark little ditties and they please me.
Now in case my bad music wasn't enough for myself, I went and wrote a poem. Miserable thing really. Poetry has never been, and won't ever be my forte. Rhetoric, nay, poetic prose is, I think, closer to being my forte. My strength in writing. Shaping words just so. But they never shape well into poetry. Now and again I end up with a good poem, but so very very rarely. This is not one of those times but I am feeling gracious. You may see the poem. Just as it came out. I don't think its good enough for me to spend my time editing it. I just don't see any potential in it. If anyone thinks otherwise, they are welcome to tell me. Should I work on it further? I do have some additonal developmental material, but is it really worth the work? But if it is as bad as I think, please, not a word. Silence will be enough of a hint for me...
Speak up
I can't quite hear what you're saying
I wasn't really listening though
It's not as if I actually believe youI was too caught up in my reflection
It makes me cry you know
It's so far from who I thought I was
It's so different from who you said you sawSo who is the one with distorted vision?
Is it me or was it you?
Wherefrom the dark entanglements?
What lies are you trying to tell me?Throwing compliments by my wayside
Shedding joyful tears for me to catch.
I let them fall unheeded
They were only tokens of my humiliationSo give it up
Maybe you should just leave me be
Until you lose your blinders
Or I lose mine
(NOTE:This isn't about my boy troubles either. Pft. Don't anyone get THAT idea. This is about another subject entirely.)
I'm done. Can any tell that I miss interaction? 4 entires right in a row?
But really, when I am feeling so poorly I tend to shy away from discussing my troubles with anyone. No, I will not hide them from God, but I will withdraw them from everyone else. I often have a hard time believing anyone understands or cares. It is part of my trouble. It isn't their fault. No matter how much they insist, I have a little...well a little demon in my head that whispers me misgivings. That tells me no one could possibly really care. I will write this entry, and my "friends" will read it and rush to comfort me that it is an untruth and that they understand and care for me very much, and I would like to believe them, but the little demon in my head won't let me. He tells me that they will do all this, but it will all be a lie. Why would they rush to comfort me if it was a lie? That I cannot understand. But my demon insists that that is what people do. That that is how they act although they will never admit it. He says it would be dangerous business for a person to actually admit the truth that they hate me and care nothing for me. He says they will always deny but deep in their minds they know its the truth. A truth they will never confess.
So unreasonable, I know. I know with my whole head that it is all an untruth. But the "demon" has a strange hold over my heart. I recognize that what is going wrong is exactly that. Wrong. Its all lies but I can't get that through to my heart. I don't know why. It makes me frustrated. My heart believes my "demon" and not me.
The poem is not a product of my thoughts on this "demon" either. Its a product OF my "demon". His lies about my friends drove me to the writing of that poem. Sad, isn't it?
Not only can I not believe what they say they see in me, but I cannot believe that they actually see what they say. I believe they see the same in me that I see in myself. All bad. But everyone lies to me about it. Everyone is too nice and polite to tell me the truth.
*sighs heavily* I know, I know, that can't be true. My head rebels against all of this. But deep down inside, my heart still believes it. I am at war with myself. As long as my heart still believes, I am stuck. And I don't know how to make my heart come in line with my head. I just don't know.