I am so mad

I am so mad at the world. I am furious at how the world treats me. Why me? I walk the streets with my face scrunched tight, tears pouring. In my head I am thrashing and screaming. The grey clouds loom above my head, so I run harder, faster, no luck. Why me? I am sure the world is my enemy — plotting and scheming behind my back. I do not like to talk of luck, however, I cannot help but think bad luck runs through my veins. I am unable to see past the chaos of my own shadow. I am done and become undone every hour, oh how fast things change. Sometimes life is ablaze with fear and dread. I do not wish for my eyes to open in the morning — for the day to remind me of how treacherous life can be. 

How mad I am with myself that I am mad at the world, for the world will not accept my fury but mirror it instead. I am the world now, I am the mad, I am the fury. Consumed by my own mistakes that I do not wish to accept. Unaware of the blissful act of surrendering. This is me. The world will not show its beauty if I do not search for it first. I concern myself with how I treat the world, rather than how it treats me and I thank her for the lessons I am taught. If I am looking at nothing but grey, how am I ever supposed to see the colour? I accept the fury when it arrives, I let it exist besides the why’s and the gratitude — I allow myself to feel conflicting emotions at the same time. I slow down. I accept myself and I accept the world. 

I cannot change the world, but I can change how I see the world.