Wilde

Magnetism is not the force that draws me down, that holds me here with your dwelling bodies upon this whirlpool that is Earth, I cannot calm down, nor can I slow down for any one single person. Living and dying inside my own familiar, uncomfortable skin, sometimes bearable, others, not so much. I’d walk alone upon this hurting Earth, no longer willing to go on, forfeiting the game she herself had initiated. And within this residential neighborhood I’d lost my sense of mind, I’d need make it fit for only one. Remembrance is one thing I thought I always did well, one shining aspect I could use against someone’s will, but also an unforgiving curse. But I forgot you, and I forgot all of us, and all of them, as I walked out your lone doorway, that broad doorway which deems reality as reality, leaves us what we need to survive, tells us our guidelines and our purpose, what’s expected and needed from all of us at once, but never singularly; those rules dictate your dwellings, they rule your soul. So my existence waltzed out that room, out of that neighborhood, and built anew, away from all my synonymous neighbors. I called upon my grounded mind; we walk out as one, permanently intertwined, branches grown with one another into the swelling ground, the ground that yearns to break through with new material.

I forgot you, I forgot me as a part of you, living in this residential place, this place where trespassers may never cross, where you’ll always forget about the lone roses across the street, the roses who grew out of spite, the roses who are loathsome towards you for misleading them, for you’d never touch them, not for years to come; because your arms have yet to be touched by anything but metal and other human skin for a countless number of years. You’ve reached and striven for nothing that was ever your own, like Bradbury all over again, where you asked for your brother’s soul, and you begged for your mother’s hands, where you craved the senses of your equal, and you’d never realize you spent all your life fighting to earn the recognition of your pupils. You’d forget yourself, if you ever were a self.

            Would you ever be a lone wanderer?- the one who stalks the streets of his own city, the city where everyone knows him by name and by sight, where the wandered, in return, knows everyone else all the same. And there he’d divulge in his own secrets, and self, where the stars would look upon him as they found him stranded, the only ant left behind to be killed. Then the whisper would call to him, only while the stars watched, only if the whisper knew that you’d listen, and then he’d speak up; if you were yearning and calling for it to come forth and gravitate toward your bare arms, and he’d ask to be branded, ingrained on your forehead to know you’re a true believer, the whisper, which everyone urges to come out, but the whisper that never shows his vague and truthful face because his master is too afraid to come forth with his own ideas, and the whisper will never be branded externally, his master will never expose his deadliest sins, nor his greatest achievements.

            So, this young man, this woman, me, I’ll graze my feet upon this sidewalk which I claim to be mine own, engulfed in barreling cars and interminable light trails, where I can say, “reality says life is here, reality deems it so”. For magnetism is not the force that occupies me, it’s those walks, those lonely walks which I happily endure, the walk which no one allows solely because they’re afraid of one self, and a coming-to-terms. But, this is my walk, where I’ll literally forget the entire world around me and bathe in my secrecy, in my individuality, and I devour all the egotism that can fit inside this tiny body, search for all the self-favoritism I’m able to posses. Did you ever really know your most distinguished moments are those which you never share, which are repressed and confined within yourself?