Disclaimer- I don't own Nelson Mandela's inaugural speech (in italics) or
Higher Ground. Enjoy
Rowan slowly raised the tiny piece of metal to his right arm, a little below the shoulder. He ignored the sputtering shower with its rusty water; his bleeding cuts and painful bruises, his water logged black boxers, his pounding head from the drug withdrawl. All that mattered lay upon this tiny razor, hoping the pain of the cuts would drag him away from the depths of his blackened soul.
Our deepest fear
Is not that we are inadequate
He brought the blade down fast and watched the red blood flow down. He was drowning blissfully in crimson oblivion, safe from everything… Maybe today the cut would be deep enough, he would bleed enough.
Our deepest fear
Is that we are powerful beyond measure
He brought the now sticky metal to his other arm when Dwayne's face appearing in his mind. Peter spoke, his voice sounding out of place emitting form Dwayne's mouth but oddly comforting, "No. You don't want to do this."
1
2 It is our light, not out darkness that scares us
"Yes," Rowan tried to say. "I do. I want to die. Why does no one get this?"
"No." Kat appeared. Kat? Rowan tried to ask but her face danced in his head. He leaned against the dirty tile wall and for a moment he was once again blissfully unaware.
We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant,
To be gorgeous, talented, and fabulous
A new face appeared. Moaning, Rowan slid to his knees, leaving a bloody trail; shining red against the dirt and scum.
3
4 Actually, who am I not to be?
You are a child of God
Your playing small doesn't serve this world
The copper curls, the laughing mouth, the eyes that held the stars and the key to the 8-year-old dreams he had cherished. The dreams that were no more, the dreams he was a fool to believe in, a fool to believe in her. She was saying something, but he was too far away, too far-gone. Unconscious of the fact he dropped the razor blade, unconscious of the fact his arm poured forth a fountain of blood, unconscious of the fact that his father had entered the room and turned off the sputtering shower. Rowan strained to hear the voice in his head; eyes squeezed shut, oblivious to all.
5
6 There is nothing enlightened about shrinking
So others won't feel insecure around you
He was ripped out of his trance by a man he didn't recognize for a moment, the his name wormed its' way back into Rowan's mind, leaden and heavy. Dad. He shook on the bloody shower floor, the lack of drugs shaking his body cruelly, his arms and numerous cuts soaking and drying his pale skin scarlet, discoloring tattoos and scars, birthmarks and bruises.
We were born to manifest the Glory of God that is within us;
"Withdrawl, eh?" The man said. Rowan didn't answer, didn't care. His mind racing over the one word. No. No what? No more drugs? No more living? No, don't die?
7
8 It's not just in some of us- it's in everyone!
He felt a slight stinging on his cheek where he guessed his father had slapped him but his mind was still running after the answer that seemed to be just out of reach, too far away. Do I want to die? Yes, but do I want to die, but here, in this hole, giving in? No.
As we let our own light shine,
We unconsciously give others permission to do the same.
Rowan saw his father slash his pale tanish wrists saying, "You want blood? I'll give you blood, here's blood." He almost felt his father sticking the needle in his arm. "Here's a mix that'll give you a trip you won't believe…" Rowan fought the icy numbing for a moment, letting himself feel only the skin warmed by hot blood that dripped from his wrists, arm and dozens of other places. No. He was going to get out, escape. After that… He didn't let himself think farther ahead than that. Rowan slipped back into the river of drugs, blood, and curls that cried copper.
9
10 As we are liberated from our fear
Our presence automatically liberates others!
Rowan slowly raised the tiny piece of metal to his right arm, a little below the shoulder. He ignored the sputtering shower with its rusty water; his bleeding cuts and painful bruises, his water logged black boxers, his pounding head from the drug withdrawl. All that mattered lay upon this tiny razor, hoping the pain of the cuts would drag him away from the depths of his blackened soul.
Our deepest fear
Is not that we are inadequate
He brought the blade down fast and watched the red blood flow down. He was drowning blissfully in crimson oblivion, safe from everything… Maybe today the cut would be deep enough, he would bleed enough.
Our deepest fear
Is that we are powerful beyond measure
He brought the now sticky metal to his other arm when Dwayne's face appearing in his mind. Peter spoke, his voice sounding out of place emitting form Dwayne's mouth but oddly comforting, "No. You don't want to do this."
1
2 It is our light, not out darkness that scares us
"Yes," Rowan tried to say. "I do. I want to die. Why does no one get this?"
"No." Kat appeared. Kat? Rowan tried to ask but her face danced in his head. He leaned against the dirty tile wall and for a moment he was once again blissfully unaware.
We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant,
To be gorgeous, talented, and fabulous
A new face appeared. Moaning, Rowan slid to his knees, leaving a bloody trail; shining red against the dirt and scum.
3
4 Actually, who am I not to be?
You are a child of God
Your playing small doesn't serve this world
The copper curls, the laughing mouth, the eyes that held the stars and the key to the 8-year-old dreams he had cherished. The dreams that were no more, the dreams he was a fool to believe in, a fool to believe in her. She was saying something, but he was too far away, too far-gone. Unconscious of the fact he dropped the razor blade, unconscious of the fact his arm poured forth a fountain of blood, unconscious of the fact that his father had entered the room and turned off the sputtering shower. Rowan strained to hear the voice in his head; eyes squeezed shut, oblivious to all.
5
6 There is nothing enlightened about shrinking
So others won't feel insecure around you
He was ripped out of his trance by a man he didn't recognize for a moment, the his name wormed its' way back into Rowan's mind, leaden and heavy. Dad. He shook on the bloody shower floor, the lack of drugs shaking his body cruelly, his arms and numerous cuts soaking and drying his pale skin scarlet, discoloring tattoos and scars, birthmarks and bruises.
We were born to manifest the Glory of God that is within us;
"Withdrawl, eh?" The man said. Rowan didn't answer, didn't care. His mind racing over the one word. No. No what? No more drugs? No more living? No, don't die?
7
8 It's not just in some of us- it's in everyone!
He felt a slight stinging on his cheek where he guessed his father had slapped him but his mind was still running after the answer that seemed to be just out of reach, too far away. Do I want to die? Yes, but do I want to die, but here, in this hole, giving in? No.
As we let our own light shine,
We unconsciously give others permission to do the same.
Rowan saw his father slash his pale tanish wrists saying, "You want blood? I'll give you blood, here's blood." He almost felt his father sticking the needle in his arm. "Here's a mix that'll give you a trip you won't believe…" Rowan fought the icy numbing for a moment, letting himself feel only the skin warmed by hot blood that dripped from his wrists, arm and dozens of other places. No. He was going to get out, escape. After that… He didn't let himself think farther ahead than that. Rowan slipped back into the river of drugs, blood, and curls that cried copper.
9
10 As we are liberated from our fear
Our presence automatically liberates others!
