I always find myself face to face with my madness. Spewing senseless thoughts, my ability to convince myself of things I know are false. To create an entire universe of tomorrow. To believe, deeply, in it’s possibility. To scream when reality does not follow suit. Imbecile. I will never learn. The world cannot be colored my way. Time cannot be bent. Feelings evoked. Time, heartless barrier. Ruthless dictator. Bitch.
But I revel in turmoil. Frankly, I thrive. It invigorates. Confusion urges me to consider, to think twice before digesting words, moments, before making decisions.
And I find myself deliciously lost. I strive for perfection but cannot live in a perfect world. I pretend to want to fit into society, but desire – that adrenaline that drives every inch of my body, says otherwise.
Leopardness of my mind’s fantasy, what is it that makes me crave you? Why do I enjoy tossing and turning, thinking of you and your spotted ways? Your specs of black in an otherwise untainted brown… What is it about the unrequited, the unanswered that feeds my imagination’s need for more. Perhaps anxiety is my human truth. Deep felt unease. A trickling whirl of emotion, creeping into every pore. Why does turmoil make me feel alive?
I blame the stories. Yes, childhood stories. My mind is lost in once upon a time. My world believes in more. I refuse to believe in black and white. In simple. In one word answers. In straight lines. In rules dictated by… Who exactly dictated the morals we are expected to uphold? I’d like to meet them and tell them to fuck off. I will not be dictated. I will not follow. I will not be contained. I will feel. I will express. I will lose myself if and when I want to. I will live. I will experience. I will be whom I want, when I want.
Ah, that must be it. The unsatisfied dream to pretend, to dress in characterization. To embrace the multiple layers of who I am. Isn’t that what actors do? Become layers of themselves, better, tap into layers of themselves to portray. I’d like to explore each layer, and if that requires tapping into my imagination every day, so be it.
Will you sit and watch?
Will you hold still while I strip away piece by piece
– layers of expectations?
Will you fight the urge to touch my
– colored imagination?
Will your eyes glow when I speak
Will you lose your mind when I step closer
– to my third eye?
Will you smile when I tell you
– I am curious?
Will you finally give in
– to my turmoil?
Will you pacify my desire to be blinded
– guided only by senses?
No, don’t move.