Maybe if I could just be, instead of act. Like I would if no one were watching, though my comings and goings are unaccompanied as history might recall. And all I can say after all of it is that I'm still sitting in this same position with this same blank stare and I can't figure out what to do with everything inside of me. I prefer not to speak out until I understand completely. So I show up with my tongue tied and my lips stuck to one another still. The more I learn, the less I understand. The less it fits into this everything else. As soon as I understand, I lose all ability to accept logic. I'm not sure which skill to keep sharpened and for what purpose. Who am I growing into, who am I growing to please.
And I've gotten so tired of being stuck inside the structure of these words and this language and my body or my smile. Your comments build expectations either way. If I could only become some sort of barely-there being, I would wander through walls and disappear. But in the real sense this time, and right before your eyes. And it would be like I never existed, you wouldn't remember a shred of me. And I won't wonder if it made any difference. I just assume you'll fill those days up with someone else instead of me.
Would there be an emotional response to any of it or would you be a statue just the same? Maybe that's what it is I'm reaching for. Somedays I wake up, and my arms aren't even apart of my body. Somedays I forget my own name. I try to make it special, try to keep it pure. But I'm becoming more and more convinced that this baggage and the appeal I find in sadness simply has nowhere to be set down.