Damned If You Do

He was a freedom I couldn’t quite see myself inside, though I wanted to. I wanted to so badly. But people can’t change their souls, only their habits and it is here at the feet of the dying of hope that I sit and wait in silent sadness. It may sound strange but the words I write to him appear in my mind as I imagine typing them, his image superimposed behind each one as if the words can see through him or perhaps he can see through the words. I doubt it, though, he’s never been one for attending to words. I don’t speak of the things which matter most to me anymore because they don’t matter to this world the way certain other, flashier, glossier, neater things do. I am too deep, too idealistic, too difficult. I get so close I forget to breathe. I can see how this would be true so I’m not sure how to react or respond, aside from the drinking and other invisible tools one uses to quietly, diligently dismantle one’s existential hangups from the inside out. What matters. What matters more. What shouldn’t matter to me but does, simply does. They speak about being yourself. They hurl it your way like a whirling blade, a cruel and punishing threat. Be yourself, as if I don’t spend every waking second trying to figure out exactly who she is and be able to hold her hand through everything in spite of everything else. Lighting a cigarette as I duck under an overhang to avoid the rain which is now torrential, I tuck into my coat and begin questioning my life choices one by one as they parade in front of me like a manic marching band, decision after decision obnoxious and loud. When I write I am not myself. When I write I am more myself than I am anytime or anywhere else. Did you know that gazing up in adoration at someone else can burn your eyes blind and scorch your skin raw? True story. Did you know that power can destroy innocence because beauty is not far enough away from sin to keep itself in line? You watch me. Feast on my words and spit out what you don’t like. But I? I open my mouth and my veins and my chest, and I, well… like it or not, dirty or sweet, angel or demon. I have to take all of it.

4 Replies to “Damned If You Do”

  1. And she comes back swinging with a one-two punch.

    “They speak about being yourself. They hurl it your way like a whirling blade, a cruel and punishing threat. Be yourself, as if I don’t spend every waking second trying to figure out exactly who she is and be able to hold her hand through everything in spite of everything else. Lighting a cigarette as I duck under an overhang to avoid the rain which is now torrential, I tuck into my coat and begin questioning my life choices one by one as they parade in front of me like a manic marching band, decision after decision obnoxious and loud.”

    “Be yourself”, that cruel and punishing threat, as you say, veiled with the undertones of “be who we are comfortable with you being”. Indeed. The rest also speaks to me about that existential struggle that I would like to think we all endure (yet I can’t help but notice it is more clear to some than others) to live authentically and figure out our role before the Damacles sword falls.

    Welcome back, Allison. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Damacles sword… never had I heard this before so, of course, I researched after reading your kind insightful comment. It is uncanny, how that story fits just so with what I was trying to say here. So glad to be back, thank you for the warm welcome. So so glad to be back. ☺️🗡

      Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s