I want something that’s more than a fear response. There’s a hole in my heart that bleeds onto everyone I come in contact with. The music flows through me, and it leaves me feeling energized and sad at the same time. I’ve wasted too much of this life being unsure of myself. And I fully realize the passage of time now ceases to impress me. Be still my heart in the dead of the night. Calm my fears and give me love when I need it most. I pretend I don’t, but please don’t let me fabricate my needs anymore.
Distracted by the background noise: wear the clothes, color the hair, stay in your lane. Be educated and smart, and do not falter in your decisions. The past comes back to be your friend, but only until it can desecrate all that is holy in its tracks. The pattern repeats itself, and I am back in my bed wondering what happened. How did I allow childhood’s grip on me make me yearn for its exact delinquency? Do not worry is the mantra; surviving the day is the choice. Our friends gaze upon our depression, and they know how much we long for home. Oh, how I wish I could go home. Nothing makes me feel, and yet everything reeks of the tightness of loss.
I think about previous encounters, and all the times I failed to express my true heart. It was confused by a need to win against my own restless rebellion. The lessons learned are not lost on me, but I would make them again if it meant it brought me to peaceful sleep. The angst inside doesn’t take a breather, but my faith sure knows how to take a hit. They say if you feel far away to draw closer. Does this mean we reel in before, during or after the mistakes? I need a guidebook, because clearly the concept is lost on ears that would rather walk five miles by itself but not take one second to breathe and be at one.
Sitting in the room and looking at all the familiar faces. I’ve met them all before in people I’ve known. One reminds me of my brother; another resembles a girl I used to know. But they all want one thing: affection. Lonely hearts know how to speak about pertinent subjects to heartache and isolation. They profess they don’t want it; it’s all a fallacy. The honest hearts battle for a feeling beyond fear responses. I’ll take my chance at the unknown; it will only cost me my sanity. It’s just the timing, I say. But I know the truth, and it cuts me in twelve pieces, like a charcuterie board paired with wine. Oh how I love wine. And yet I detest it, because it means I’m relying on chemicals to make me feel alive. What a way to die. Who knew living could cost everything?
The gentleman to my left sits in misery, and his fuse grows smaller by the minute. When he talks, it drips of solitude and desolation. He’s not truly happy unless he’s chasing the next high or controlling the situation at hand. Oh, how I wish he could be free and no longer at battle. I long for him to laugh again and be painless for more than a moment. The love for another goes beyond the depth of the sea, but we don’t say what we need to say because of selfish pride. The poems of old grip at our bleeding hearts, but we can’t relate because we are jaded and tortured. I knew him by name, and now he’s nothing more than a memory. The vanity of the now makes me want to throw up in my new clothes just to prove a point. If I’m partaking, I must be enjoying myself. That’s what I tell everyone else. My conscious tells me different, but it’s not glorified enough in our culture to matter.
Judge based on weight, clothing, actions, you name it. If it’s contradictory to me, I don’t want it. To that I say, you can go f*** yourself. I myself am a walking contradiction, and I mutter under my breath because it’s just that ridiculous. Why does it matter? Why is this a thing? Individuality is thee single most beautiful thing in the world, because it happens naturally without coercion.
Without individuality, artists wouldn’t be able to do their work, and freestyle would cease to exist. I come to, and the picture of front of me brings me peace once again, because it was orchestrated by an individual who had a voice. I have a voice, and I can choose what to do with it. There is no wrong path, unless I’m harming myself and others; then it’s time to regroup. I put on my shoes and realize the soles are worn down. Their tattered insides are a direct reflection of my broken heart. I love to make the connection and thrive on ascertaining the game plan. Let’s draw up our slow fade in a visual so we can be considered thoughtful until the story’s end.
I don’t know what I want my legacy to be yet, but I sure know that many don’t live long enough to find out theirs. And the thought frightens me. If I only had today, what would I do with it? Would I know something is coming, or would I simply go on my merry way due to youthful ignorance? I do believe I would get to come home, but as much as I talk about it, home seems like a faraway notion, and I like it that way. In the dead of the night, I reflect on the meaning of going home; of loved ones lost. I believe they are here, but my human desires betray me. I want them in the flesh. But they are the lucky ones. The salt of my tears is not enough to bring them back, as it should be. But the empty feeling can only be subsided by abysmal prayer and weak cries. It’s a start.
Thank you for giving me this gift of reflection. I don’t know where I start and you begin, but I know you are gracious beyond all measure. And today, that’s enough to calm my racing heart. Until the next day, when I have to learn it all over again. I want to, because the reckoning is wondrous submission. It means I get to fly and devote myself freely. I get to play with my dog, watch my nieces, and even get up and exercise for your glory. It may not be glamorous, but it’s breathtaking in its pure simplicity. The bed feels softer now, and I can go back to sleep. I will not be anxious or sad, because I know you have me covered. The realization is unfathomable, just as it was the day before. But I was younger then, and now I have yesterday’s wisdom. And that’s a gift worth sharing.