Real Stories


What do I need to conjure up to merely survive in a life I never asked for, how do I become  real? what makes me real? what anchors me and projects me out on to the world until my  truth embodies every cellular structure in my body?

I am not questioning if my dreams aren’t possible, I know they are if people unqualified for  their positions can merely waltz into positions of immense power, then so can I, I am merely  asking, how? How do I get there?

I feel like a rogue ant that wandered onto a pristine table  awaiting to be squashed under the thumb of those that put it there. I feel everything and nothing every day and some days like today I feel nothing. I have grown  cold towards everyone and everything, I felt it the day my guard went up, it was like the  second closing shutter of a window. No one knows what they are doing, I mean we have put  walls for perimeters we can’t measure to make ourselves feel like we have something we can  control in this thrusting turbulence called life.

I am not sure anyone has any idea what we are doing here and why we are even here, I mean  I get it we want to collide with visions of art, creation, and music and make it all mean  something , because it not meaning a thing would be soul crashing , all of it meaning nothing,  the deaths, the wars, the rudeness, the racial wars, the disparaging void of nothingness just  looming over us like a heavy storm awaiting to drown us all is a bit over bearing, it is  enough to send anyone spiralling out of control. We come up with definitive essays to answer the complexity or simplicity of life however  you want to see it, to make it all mean something to draw a line in the sand, any line to be  exact and make sure, this life we are currently embarking on means something, renews  something in all of us, I am not sure I can say I truly believe in that. I think we are merely  relieving the same cycles of life over, and over and over until mother earth evicts us ,  because we have done nothing but litter and poison her kids at the expanse of making a buck  and making sure money makes everyone look at us with amusement , because for those few  seconds ,were everyone’s eyes are on us we feel , alive like we matter and all the disparaging  disorders and damaging consequences of our parents raising us have not broken us, that for  these few seconds we don’t have to break family curses , because here they do not exist , here  for a few glittering seconds we are the champions of our own stories like the fairy tales promised, here we are the heroes we were promised we would be, here all those child-like  wonderments are real and our existence isn’t a waste or a forgotten passage in the big story  book of life.

If your still wondering, what died in me and never woke the answer is everything, everything  died. It might be time for a reinvention.


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