They say that crying is worthless.
But those are simply lies.
It’s when your throat burns with salty tears,
that the pain truly subsides.
The hurt will never go away,
the pain will never stop,
but there must be a way to let it out
or the aching will turn to rot.
We lock our doors to friends,
and family alike,
just to play as someone else –
to let fantasy take flight.
Through gaming we escape the world
that holds so much pain and strife,
but we forget, as gamers do, that gaming is not life.
If life is simply too much to bear,
it’s easy to escape, into a war-torn kingdom,
or whatever alternate world, we can gladly take
over what we feel inside, when outside that locked room,
because to face the world means facing oneself,
and the inevitable, affective doom
of being an outcast, a pariah, or recluse:
Judgement is a human trait
with which people, intensify inadequacy
And fuel our throbbing hate,
of any and all censure,
as is the human way,
and so again we escape this world,
and live another day
as someone else, someone better,
though the condemning eyes persist.
But at the back of our minds,
we see the truth:
our games do not exist.
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Latest posts by Belinda Brock (see all)
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