When I Say I Feel Things Differently I Think I Mean
Riding the waves
Falling off the rollercoaster
Trailing your fingertips across the stars one minute
And wrapping yourself in the dark velour the next
In the space where inspiration is bred
And hearts are broken.
A price that demands payment,
Shaking hands with the future that includes my own mother at my funeral
An existence in which I am at war with myself constantly
Where my body and mind dance as if it were their last waltz
Yet, there is no other space I would rather live,
You could not drag my body across to the alternative,
To the tope, the settlement,
I choose to be here,
In agony and in pleasure,
Even if it means I despise myself as much as I love myself.
(Even if it mean hatred drips from my skin at the same rate that love flows through to my toes)
I will untie my soul upon the world as my offering
And endure each blade placed gently within my flesh,
Raw,
The cost of vulnerability.
I will live in the valley to experience the peak
When I acknowledge how all encompassing my emotions are on this side of life I imagine the life of another, the one I have chosen to become:
An artist tortured by his decision to feel. His poison picked, the glass poured, a toast to creation. The ceremony remains predominantly the same. The metaphorical gutting, the ingredients laid upon the sandstone, the recipe chosen, the meal made. The stitching of my soul through fabrication. It is necessary, and it is better than the internal festering I once allowed, but it is not without sacrifice. There is no choice in this life without a required retribution, so I choose the one that accepts my oblation and in turn offers a glimpse of heaven. Hell with God as a reprieve in lieu of purgatory cut with the Devil.
In other words,
I will either spend my life smothering that which claws at my skin. In its frantic search for release, ripping my soul into shreds as I continue through this outside world, or I will relent to the pressure. I unlock the long closed door and allow the grooves to intertwine my body and mind. I allow the emotions to come go as they please, as they are needed, in their full capacity. Painting with fire on a canvas made of wood.
So, what I think I’m trying to convey is, I would rather feel, no matter how devastating. No matter how heavy or hard or demanding. I would rather feel and perish, than to live in the numb. Would rather dive head first and cherish the filling of my lungs, than to skim across the surface. Would rather cover myself in gasoline and burn with the house than let the rotting wood spread. That there can be no expectations in this life, and to believe you know the intentions of the universe is an asking for a lesson, a gentle reminder that we must only be open, that we must only want to learn- not control- and that trust comes with an opening for pain, for sadness, but to live this life with an aversion to being hurt is the greatest disservice you could ever possibly do to yourself.
The highs are worth the lows- the spaces in between, few and far between, are held as my reason for living- the contentment, the peace, the slow ripple of reckoning before the next drop falls
The cup of your hand on my cheek
The salt resting lightly on the surface of the sliced watermelon
The way it feels to realize yourself in this version for the first time
Trace your fingertips along the ridge and breathe
I shake my shoulders and watch as the birds fly free
