Photo by luizclas
In my moments of weakness I am ugly and cannot defend well against its approach; ugly things which happens our way and their shortsighted counterparts in the eyes of strangers hating me now for not understanding their pains and their discomfort and that I am not a better person than them.
I cannot take back my drunkenness, my lapse of judgments, no more than my above reproach attempt to mirror Gandhi and Buddha's understanding of our wretchedness, our vile stains upon women's hearts that undergo twice the torture of living without always redeeming its benefit that man has taken lightly.
To sit here now as if I have it hard when I am unwilling to listen or except that thing I might have in kindness and understanding and forgiveness if not for this retreat into loathing that should not be spared any break from its heart or mind to rest on the skin for all these inconsiderate drunkards to witness and examine and joke upon now that I have joined the ranks of shallow human nature and deserve the ridicule from this moment I have set upon myself to endure.
A moment of weakness is all I have asked.