My Voice

She always was a wild kind of thing.
She was a child of wonder, of existence, of scrapes and bruises.
Ambitious from the start, she felt the world was hers for the taking.
But, oh, how that world took her.
It beat her, cut her, tore her pages away piece by piece.
She came unbound.
She lost her stories and was left with blank pages.
Who am I?
I don't know.
Who am I?
Stop asking!
Who am I?
I am...unwritten.
Who am I?
I am...anything.
Who am I?
I am strength.
I have to be.
Pandora ripped out her own heart and sealed it up inside a box.
You don't belong anymore. You're no good to me now.
And, with a kiss, she hid it in cold darkness.
No one will ever find you here and I'll be safe.
Oh, but little girl, no one is safe from the world.
A grave robber stole that little girl's heart and held it ransom.
It was his favorite plaything and he kept it for many years until its very beating drove him to madness.
Take it! He cried. I can't hold it any longer! Take it!
He threw it out but she couldn't catch it in time. The box fell and shattered, leaving her heart in the open. Vulnerable.
She scrambled to pick it up but was too slow.
A man bent down and held it there in his hands curiously.
He looked at her but she hid her face in shame.
Guilt overwhelmed him and he tried to return it to her.
But it wasn't hers anymore. It was his. She couldn't grasp it.
Something about her caught him. So he held it there in his hands.
Slowly, she uncovered her face.
As her eyes looked into his, something caught her attention.
Something was sticking out from his a pocket. A letter? A page? A page!
She reached out to grab it and he put up no fight. He had nothing to hide.
It was a page from his own book but...it looked so familiar.
The longer she looked, the more she remembered. She remembered a page of her own. The story so much the same.
She pulled out her broken binding to try to sneak the page into it but he caught her.
When he saw that broken bind, though, he felt a familiar kind of pain.
He took it gently and placed his page inside.
It's yours now. They're all yours now.
He reached into a bag hanging from his shoulder and pulled out his own battered binding. His pages were there but they were torn and stained. But she thought them to be quite beautiful. She gently pulled it from his hand and read it page by page.
Who am I? he heard her whisper.
You're mine. he whispered back.

Sometimes I lose control of my emotions and become so unbelievably enraged with ignorant individuals. Individuals who allow their emotions to block their minds and withhold themselves from logical thinking. Individuals who form opinions and place votes that will effect the entire country without doing anything research. To me, that is like jumping off a plane and pulling millions of people with you because you THINK there's a parachute on your back, though you never actually check. Not only are you endangering yourself but you are endangering the lives of others.



But then I calm myself and remember that our world still has millions - billions, perhaps - of years left to live and those young and naive souls still have time to learn. Though it still hurts me that others will suffer from their close-mindedness, I understand that it is out of my control and all I can do is have faith that their souls will grow in time...