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Description
It’s said we’re given two ears and one mouth to listen more and speak less
Don’t lacerate your image in a tainted mirror’s reflection. Lend your thoughts to the lips of a poet and we’ll put those fears through a test.
And with haste, if you don’t mind, I think it’s time we start. This will be a harsh tale to tell, full of fretful thoughts. Stay with me please, no matter how long it gets. With pleasantries done, my story’s begun and we’ll begin somewhere close to the beginning.
You’ll hear things you’ve been told before and acknowledged a thousand times prior, things you’ve been told before but couldn’t bear to believe. Hopefully, by the end of it all, life won’t look as bad it seems.

“I’ll never hurt you” they said, “You’re beautiful” they said, how wonderful and sweet life must have seemed; the metaphors you’ve only read in romance novels – the rhetoric and stuff of dreams. So innocent and adventurous you must have been at some point, only to be torn apart, like a dress so constricting – ripped apart by lace and seam.
Like a hummingbird - with a sweetened but less than luxurious thirst - you found the nectar to mix with your ambrosia and youth hasn’t tasted the same ever since. How delightful it was to indulge in honey soaked words.
But after promises made and successively broken, listened to things said in anger not to be spoken, you found yourself hurt and quickly learned that long beak of yours only pecks at open wounds.

Your complexion once bright but now pale; bones you didn’t know were hollow - and gracefully frail - rest in your wings and sides not so much intact as they bite from inside – broken and cracked.
You’ve had enough of these conquistadors’ conquests; they set anchors to rock as contemptible words crash not so softly onto one’s heart. People tyrants, words their subjects, a war of flattery lay tireless siege to your tiring soul.
You’ve deserted the battlefield after witnessing the battle’s apogee; locking yourself in the mind’s monolith to bask in quiet solace - trusting reckless abandon with rights to the key.
You think to yourself, wondering while wandering a vast inner lachrymose -
“How can words so emblazoned with passion scorch so paradoxically cold?”
There’s someone else, someone like you, who sat upon words thinking they were true. He managed to escape the battle’s ramparts but managed time alone by torturing himself. He let the thoughts others sink in and soon felt daggers pierce his heart, slash his brain.

A person once composed in thought, guided by heart, turned comically insane.

One might say he fancied himself a mad surgeon. On his inner corpus he toiled - rending cranium to ribbons, divorcing flesh from muscle, exposing raw bone to open air;

To discover the nature of disaster our natural structures unnaturally bear.
He picked apart his brain, sliced with a scalpel of introspection to dissect the inner essence of outer pains. He found something inconspicuous hidden in the content divulged from a cross-section.

From skin to flesh - and from flesh to sinew - and from chords of sinew anchored to bone
He picked apart something unsettling - nestled closer to thought than marrow in bone.
Brick by brick, stone by stone, like removing abrasions smitten to the most timeless of tomes, the fortress surrounding his monolith slowly crumbled after entrusting something very special to someone other than himself.

This very special thing was that of his conscience, the treasure of his mind’s monolith, and through the spilling of thought words flow like rivers – everything he deigned unworthy of himself.

Through talking with another soul, the waters of the mind expelled tear-soaked streams; rushed away the sadness and unsettled the monsters settled so deeply in more than his dreams.

While wading through these conscious thoughts, this special person took a moment to pause and thought aloud –

“The things you think about you, they’re things you’ve twisted and wrought, they’re warped perceptions of the self; the machinations of malevolent thought.”

He says to his friend, “How do you know? How can you be so sure that none of what I say is true? It’s been told to me countless times by others and myself! How can these awful things that impale my brain contain a substance other than truth?”

To this confession a smile brightens a compassion struck face. A warm arm rests on his cold shoulder, unsightly and out of place. After a pause, she opened her mouth and graced his mind with the most profound of thoughts:

“You are not the things you say you are and I can see why you’re so misunderstood. Just stop saying the things others say to your-self because I only see the good.”
For the first time tears of joy ran down his face; because for the first time in all of his life he had finally heard the truth.