Your Song is an Ugly One

In the early 19th century, slave owners would hear their slaves out in the fields singing. These songs were like nothing they ever heard before. They were strange and different, but it sounded like their slaves were happy. Only happy people sing. Slave owners would tell others that they had such happy slaves, because they always did their work with gladness. And yet, if they listened to the words, they would know that these were not happy songs. People sang, not out of happiness, but with the belief that by singing out their pain, some of it could be released. Sometimes people sing, or smile, not because they are overflowing with joy, but because they have so much hurt that they need to hide just to make it through the day. Not every song is a happy one, nor is every smile proof of joy. Sometimes the sweetest masks hide the most evil wretched pains.
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You sing a song I’ve never heard before. A beautiful song. A captivating one. They look at you and think it is well. Happy people sing, and you my friend, look happy. Yet when I look you in the eye, it isn’t you looking back at me. And then I hear the words.

Your song is an ugly one.

Telling a story of pain. Of shackled pain. Of tightly bound burdens. You walk, but you’re in chains. Your song hides as beauty, but as each note is forced out your vocal chords, those chords wrap themselves around your ankles, tightening their grasp, until you know that you’re bound to that song. And that song owns you. Each note is another octave of pain. Your lungs grasp for air, they hurt you. You’re clothed in darkness, and yet all people hear is your lovely melody, masquerading as light. And as you smile, your teeth shield the demons from poking through.

Oh how your song is an ugly one.