Write About an Ending

I read the challenge for the week,
hoping it would speak to me;
but it all seemed bleak to me.
So I pick up my pen to try again,
searching out the inspiration held within.

Write about an ending.

But I must admit, I’m not feeling it.
Not that I don’t give a shit;
those just aren’t the words I want to spit.

My life’s been one end after another,
from the moment I was born to a struggling mother,
it’s all been about the end –
wondering when the scars will mend
and just how far I’ll bend
before I break.

Those aren’t the words I need to be heard.
I need a beginning.
A game worth winning when my head is spinning and the demons are grinning because …
they think they’ve won.

I need something new.
Something borrowed, maybe blue.
Something sweet laid at my feet
when I stand above the world high enough to look you in the eye
and finally show you who I am.

I need a beginning.
I need laughter that rings through the rafters
and doesn’t cease to crease every face it meets with peace.
I need more.
It’s an internal war to settle the score
and be who I wasn’t before …
the last ending.

I need a beginning
where the demons don’t play.
Where I am the predator – not the prey.
Where nothing stands in my way
and gone are the decayed horrors of yesterday.

I’ve had a lifetime of endings.
I sadly digress.
I no longer want or need the stress.
Finally, I’ve the strength to express and address the subject.
I confess – I obsess the subject:

No, give me a fresh start.
A newly beating heart never torn apart by the constant battering of endings.
A fresh set of eyes to look upon all once despised.
Give me lies replaced with bright blue skies.
And sunrise…
Sweet sunrise.

I need a beginning.
Because, I’ve had my share of endings

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