I will teach you about heartbreak. If you promise to tell me my pain exists.
I.
They don't tell you this but
the people who could always tell when you're not fine -
they are the ones who learned, at a very young age,
to muffle their sobs against their pillows
so their parents will think they're asleep.
They are master exorcists -
they haven't really learned how to banish ghosts
but they've become so good at pretending
the ghosts aren't there.
II.
Song lyrics are failed attempts at poetry.
Song lyrics are bad poetry
in the sense that the words
weren't written with plain ink and a dab of blood
and the writers weren't taught
that to be a PROPER poet,
you must shut the hell up and smile;
save it for later when you can be in a dark room with dim lights and deafening silence
where you can pretend you're not just a mad man with a pen.
The ones who sing did not learn to whisper to themselves.
So they trained themselves to play with different tones so their wretched sobs sound like melody.
Every time you hear a song - trust me, it's bad poetry.
III.
The reason why there aren't classes for healing heartaches
is that everyone turns into some form of monster, one way or another.
Sometimes, the monster will hurt another.
Sometimes, the monster will hurt himself.
No one has survived long enough, untainted,
to earn a teaching license for healing.
IV.
The only reason why you think your mother knows best
is because you got ahead of yourself
and made the same mistakes she did.
And then some.
And then some more.
Mistakes have a way of making survivors seem like wise men,
birthing one generation of fools after another.
No one wises up enough to listen.
There are no mistakes learned the hard way.
There's only history repeating itself in a mindless loop called "mother knows best"
I.
They don't tell you this but
the people who could always tell when you're not fine -
they are the ones who learned, at a very young age,
to muffle their sobs against their pillows
so their parents will think they're asleep.
They are master exorcists -
they haven't really learned how to banish ghosts
but they've become so good at pretending
the ghosts aren't there.
II.
Song lyrics are failed attempts at poetry.
Song lyrics are bad poetry
in the sense that the words
weren't written with plain ink and a dab of blood
and the writers weren't taught
that to be a PROPER poet,
you must shut the hell up and smile;
save it for later when you can be in a dark room with dim lights and deafening silence
where you can pretend you're not just a mad man with a pen.
The ones who sing did not learn to whisper to themselves.
So they trained themselves to play with different tones so their wretched sobs sound like melody.
Every time you hear a song - trust me, it's bad poetry.
III.
The reason why there aren't classes for healing heartaches
is that everyone turns into some form of monster, one way or another.
Sometimes, the monster will hurt another.
Sometimes, the monster will hurt himself.
No one has survived long enough, untainted,
to earn a teaching license for healing.
IV.
The only reason why you think your mother knows best
is because you got ahead of yourself
and made the same mistakes she did.
And then some.
And then some more.
Mistakes have a way of making survivors seem like wise men,
birthing one generation of fools after another.
No one wises up enough to listen.
There are no mistakes learned the hard way.
There's only history repeating itself in a mindless loop called "mother knows best"
