soul work

It's all blurs and streaks of wretched concrete -
nobody looks up,
nobody smiles.

They try to sell you something you don't need,
or maybe you do...

and nobody seems trust worthy -

I see their eyes, gazing,
not knowing if they are looking at me,
through me,
or if they are even alive!

Where is the soul nowadays?

And then the worst thought pops in my head,

"What is the point, anyways?"

and I shiver.

This must be what they all think,
and staring at them for too long imbued me with the same feeling -

No.

Shake it off,
close your eyes,
look within.

But the train zips and curves,
and everything is moving too fast, but nothing is actually moving within.

I try to envision every one in the world frolicking in flower fields, and dancing wildly in the mid-summer heat.

Then I think, I wonder if that could ever happen?

How does one get pulled from not knowing to KNOWING?!

Isn't this my work?

soul work at it's core,

and yet I can't even look at the sad, depressed, hardened faces on the subway anymore -

it tears at me.

They tear through me.

He said, "you are a slut.."
as I walked by,
and now streets are not safe to walk down anymore,

because voices are loud, and louder than my own.

Own this voice!

Own this body!

Own this beauty that I know and know to my depths!

And when I said, what is the point anyways, it pained me more than I knew possible,
since I don't want to become hardened like the rest.

These wonder eyes, are wonder-filled for reasons,
and they twinkle and glow in all light,
even at night,

even when you say terrible things,
even when you smell like piss and cat hair,
even when you can't find boundaries since nobody taught you,

and this that truth.

soul work is work,
and I go to work everyday,
do you?