When was I supposed to inherit this global expectation?
Born into a world of consequences ruled by tribal communion.
An entire manual of what ‘should be’ has become the narrative of my very scripted life.
Fools. They are, I am.
I was born a kindred spirit, my only God was my imagination.
Blasphemy I was met with as a kid, to question the story, an incompatible ploy with human living.
And only my mother that let me question that freely.
What if she refused to do that when I conjured up the thought?
Who would I be today?
They taught them to “repeat after me” and repeat they did, with no thought to the action presented.
What if I did too? Where would my imagination be today?
Was I the only one in the room that had the capacity to see what was happening?
Or was I sick?
The world’s surface answered this for me.I was internally blue for decades.
Until I finally had enough and ended my life by a knife I paid for with the tax of a system I thought and still think of completely useless.
And funnily, I pay more taxes in a month then some people make in a year, I still to this day, believe the dance with that systemic story is the real devil.
As each day follows into the next, I find the mediocre of existence suppressing me with expectation of age and comparison.
I’m almost 32 years old. I have lived half a lifetime by unhealthy standards.
And if I don’t resist the temptation of story-telling ‘repeat-after-me’ conclusions, I’m going to die much sooner than expected.
Not because of my body, no, my mind.
My life was made up by one god that never left my side, yet I abandoned it to follow the narrative of collective entitlement, that’s the power of my imagination.
My intellect. My right as a creature of experience!
Resisting submission to dumb myself down by sticking to stories that were spoken from an alternative surreal reality, fragmented by collective experience of feared illusions.
My biggest fear is not death, nor to die alone, for I know that I will never be alone if all who dance with me, through life, even the short lived ones accept the dance we share in moments.
Moments that will never be forever.
My biggest fear is suppression of expression.
Nothing will kill me faster than that.
I keep to the curve as I prove to the world, by doing, not saying, the entirety of this blue little planet of literal fiction.
As I live and love, build empires and art and pay the system to let me be, to remake reality the way I see fit with the people that want to be a part of it.
Questions got me this far and I intend to break the bounds of boundaries, supporting connections.
What exactly am I supposed to inherit?
Because all that there is left, is stories that will rot the god inside of my head.
And I rather not inherit that.