Do not burden yourself with guilt that does not belong to you.
Laden with burdens not your own, your bones will splinter,
driving into your muscles with unbearable pain following in its wake,  
your spirit will fracture.

The guilt will slowly gnaw out your beating heart like a starving predator,
you will feel a constant throbbing pain in your throat as if something is violently twisting it from the inside.
As if it is wrapped in rusted barbed wire and strings of thorns derived from only the sharpest of ancient berry bushes.

If a problem is not yours,  
let it calmly pass you by.  
If it does not touch your life,  
don’t let it linger in your mind.
As if it were a common house spider frantically scuttling across your bedroom floor,
simply let it pass instead of picking it up and being bitten.

Let yourself feel relief,
not indulging in artificial pain and strain.
Be grateful for the life you have been granted,
that it is peaceful,
keeping serenity all for your sake.
Stop throwing yourself into death’s calloused, frozen hands then turning to blame ‚unfortunate fate‘.

How foolish it is to seek out struggle,  
only to lament the scars you carved yourself.

You can weep to those around you, and seek out sympathy and support,
though in the end you caused your own suffering.
Now deal with that suffering just as you created it.

Do not form excuses just to relieve your mind from your knowing of the fact that you are the root of the pain you experience.
No one needs to forgive you.
Playing the victim role in your imaginary story is ultimately pointless.
Pointless yet not painless.

Will you dig your own grave next?
Humiliate yourself further?
Bury yourself in rough, damp soil,
breathe in and relish the Earth‘s tasteless scent and etch your forgotten name into your headstone because you will die alone?

The sun is a passive-aggressive entity. It burns you if you stay too long, blinds you if you gaze excessively. But who cares? It’s the sun—bright and happy. So let it burn us.

But let’s hate the moon. The moon that brings darkness—the same darkness that births our light. Let’s hate it for being so gentle, for looking back when we stare, perhaps granting us a faint smile if we’re lucky. Let’s hate the one thing that never hurts us, the one that guides the seas and keeps the Earth‘s beings alive.

Instead, let’s love the sun. Love what scorches our skin, sets fire to our land, and dries our soil. Love the one that siphons away our water and kills our animals. Because who cares? It’s bright and happy, and that happens to be enough for the fickle human mind.

The moon offered us stillness, an all too accessible way to see the calm of the earth and find reconciliation in its quiet. Yet, we took to despising it for years. Now only the sun is heeded and granted glory. When the two meet their end, only the sun will be mourned—with an array of flowers by its grave, given by the followers it corrupted.

We say the sun and moon go hand in hand, but that’s a lie. It’s more like a collar and leash. The sun drags the moon around, a pet for us to fear will bite. When really, the real villain is the sun—a tyrant hiding behind its radiant mask, banishing the darkness the moon presents us. A darkness that is its finest gift. A blessing.

And then, there’s the rain. It died, and no one cared. “Get rid of the rain!” they said. An abomination. But without rain, where would our plants be? Without rain, the sun would wither and scorch them all. Nothing but defenceless aspects of our Earth the sun yearns to destroy. The rain never pretended to be anything but raw. It knew its flaws, but still, it never hid. It revealed its ugliness to nurture us, happiest when we stayed beside it, happier still when we relished its embrace. The rain is a forgotten saviour, fighting to keep us alive while the sun murders us in paradise.

Everyone is an alien, a creature, a thing. No one would say it’s true, but it just is and that’s fact. We consider what does not look like us, act like us, or sound like us as the term ‚alien‘. But to those ‚aliens‘ we are also the same. We simply gave ourselves what is now the name ‚Humans‘ because it sounds much more sophisticated than ‚thing‘ ‚being‘ or ‚creature‘, said so much that it’s only natural now. Through the eyes of another being, we are not humans. We are aliens. Identity is created by the being, not by nature.

“Some birds were never meant to be in cages, never meant to be controlled by another. Eventually, it killed them. Their colour was stripped from their feathers, looking all the same, with broken voices, acting all the same.”