Cooling darkness seeps in to dispassionately quench sunlight’s last attempt at brightening the scene painted upon this sundered land. Few torches still maintain their illustrious glow amidst the encroaching midnight, with stark differences defining their character. Some shine so dimly that it’s only a matter of time before their oxygenated existence comes to a close from the burdened breathing of grief. Yet others kindle their flames with effervescence, unconquerable by even the most intense twilight. This is where I stand, nursing the newborn light of my single matchstick in desperation as negativity, manifested in dusk, searches for a crack in my composure. My mouth shall not utter words of its existence, for if the world were to know of my flaws my life will surely end. But despite my desperation, a thin line of truth begins to emerge between my long-sealed lips. It is in this moment, I speak.
If I refuse to call its name into existence, perhaps I will slyly creep away from its hold. If only it were that simple. Before I can admit to the burden I cradle so deeply inside, I must give it a face. Through building a mutual understanding, may the hammer of justice soften its resolve as it crashes down upon me. A face, a name, an identity. Does one give respect when entitling their inner demon? Negativity will have to suffice as its moniker. Even at its most beautiful, negativity is but a photographic misstatement of self-identity, making darkness its subject and relegating light to play the most minute of roles. Yes, negativity, a sufficient name for something so hideous.
Why does negativity prey upon me? Its provocative white teeth feign a sense of sincerity, a siren call enticing a closer glance. But as I said, darkness can have the attraction of light when viewed with uncareful eyes. A promising proposition for those vulnerable to deceit. One I play privy to as my teeth become its own while sinking into the apple-crisp flesh of desire. Poignancy
so well-sharpened that never once did I feel the incision made upon my self-conscious. Its scar is mine to bear as I now shake the dust off this long-dormant truth. Admittance is a necessary initiation for self-growth, but like a dagger being pulled from the battle-scarred body, its shocking pain shall never be forgotten.
Negativity of the mind may be an individual endeavor, but it is one that takes haste in transforming the sanctity of the tongue into desecration embodied through prose. In purposeful self-denial I reject its existence in me despite my cognition of its insidious residence in my veins. I denounce the very idea of involving others in my personal struggle for the threat of eroding the image of self I so carefully project into their minds. Yes, a flimsy mental construct, I know. But it is upon this malleable base that I have assembled my persona of half-truths and white lies that I fear may topple over at the slightest opening-up of my true self. It is from this disposition that my apprehension stems towards letting others see the dusk that lies just behind my fabricated smile. For the fear of darkness’s cooling breath taking hold of their perceptions consumes me.
With the palms of negativity compressing upon me ever more intensely, I know the hourglass grains of sand are coming to their end. Whole-hearted profession of my transgressions is my only hope for salvation from this dune-buried fate. It is on these unstable grounds that I take my stand and admit to negativity’s seemingly inescapable hold over the thoughts in my head and the words on my tongue. Only through a herculean effort have the shackles of self-shrouding been cast aside and has true self emerged. I have but one request as I shed this long-condemning chrysalis of darkness: may the perception of me not be cast in a premature negative, but rather be left to develop into full-clarity positivity.