Right around the turn of the twenty first birthday I was confronted with the daunting knowledge that I was growing old.
Dropping hints at this severity I stumbled through the mental PowerPoint presentation of my life...
And I found that the common denominator in each of my tears was the fact that I had lied.
Like I had learned at an early age how to hide myself in the cracks of my words
You see its funny.
I'm so used to twisting myself inside stories.
So addicted to words carving and taking out of me
That silence has somehow become a sin
I wake up at five am and most days I cannot be consoled till I play the song in my head
Like it is a God becking, calling me to worship.
I am afraid of my own existence so I hide it in the shadows of others.
They say sometimes our greatest fear is that we are great beyond measure
I laugh.
I would not be afraid if I were dynamite.
Of what I know of changing the world, I know that if I could do it, I would without a doubt.
No.
My greatest fear is these bones and their fingertips and what they know about me.
What they see at two a.m when the world has long ceased watching.
I am alive in the most dead way possible and I'm still trying to make it six feet under because that's as close to solid rock as I'll ever get.
Do you understand.
Do you see that I'm constantly feeling like nothing can save me yet I still try
Today I woke up and trying was not enough
I sat down and wondered why I started at all.
So this year.
When the birthday truck pulls around I'll truthfully tell it to pass by silently.
I am not living and this is not something I will falsely celebrate
I am convenient.
I am a whisper.
I am a clown and I am standing in a curved mirror.
