there is a darker side to grief,
most won’t admit it,
but self therapy,
makes you admit things,
things a normal therapist will have you ignoring.
writing out grief through prose,
makes me admit things only I know.
here i flow, here i grow,
one moment in tears, the next, a tantrum throw.
upward a spurt, then cut down in hurt,
we paint the pretty side of grief,
as going through the colloquial norms,
sadness, depression, hurt, longing, mania, whatever.
but what about indifference, insensitivity,
ignorance, anger, rage,
what about the state of not giving a fuck,
what about tearless, heartless, remorseless?
i propose all you down your glasses looking honcho’s,
step down from your fake professions,
humans are going to take over,
from the pseudo industries you have created.
therapy is going to come in the form of,
poetry, writing, painting and all the arts,
it will come from fighting, breaking, spilling blood,
it will come from silence, indifference, numbness, intolerance and narcissism,
until we find our own little niche to carve a nest for ourselves.
enough already, you’ve damaged the world enough,
let us grieve, grow,
sieve and know,
plough and sew,
wait for our flow,
hide in basements of darkness,
or shine in bright suns glow,
whatever which way,
when it’s time, we’ll know.