You are an outcast. Always have been, even among the included. Even among the chosen, you were the few and never the many. Singular. Disaffected. Dissociated. Frightening.
Moving your face and body the wrong way, they clipped your wandering steps and pasted them upon the tightrope horizon line. It is the one thing about you you cannot bed. It lives inside you and does not rest. It is the only thing about you. It is the hardest part about you.
It is the only thing you love because you want to, not because you must.
I light up a cigarette and sit on the wrought iron chair on the patio beneath the maple trees. The ominous sky heaving with electricity. Solitude is prayer. Is the only universal expression of gratitude. To be left alone to pick up the paper cut-out footprints they peeled off your feet. Nailed the wrong way around. I busted up my foot over the weekend – something stupid.
What if you couldn’t walk. What if you couldn’t run away even as they chased you.
The chain-link fence around the building has two feet of curled barbed wire around the top I never noticed before. They tell you it’s so nobody gets in. All kinds of running are the wrong kind of protection. They can say a lot of things but I am no longer listening. I can picture some of us, shirts torn, skin bloody. Trying to get out.
Allison Marie Conway 
Ugh. Feeling this one. Deeply. Torn shorts, torn skin. torn flesh. No stopping now. Except death that is the ultimate outcast. Chilling yet invigorating. ♥️♥️♥️
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you as ever for meeting my words with your honest, rugged, open way. I appreciate it more than you can imagine, just knowing you feel it deeply, too. ❤ ❤ ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
That reminds me of the beautiful orchestral piece Stranger on the Shore by Russ Conway. Of course there is a dark side to that because the sea is notorious for deception. Strangers can be enticing on the other hand so the point at which we realise we are falling has is necessarily guarded. When we abandon ourselves to oceanic experience there is no turning back.
And when the passion subsides and the tide has.gone out what is there?
LikeLike
Oof. I just saw that I wrote torn shorts instead of torn shirts. Oops. Sorry. X
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ha no sweat I didn’t even notice the disconnect. It works either way… either way, man – something in us just wants to get the fuck out. x
LikeLiked by 1 person
Exactly!!!! ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
You know!! ❤ ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
❤️❤️❤️
LikeLiked by 1 person
Also, this piece is fucking crazy good. The way it hooks immediately and then takes you on wild ride that kickstarts own flashes of introspection. By the end you need a shot of scotch or a cigarette to prevent the heart from bursting. Yet, it doesn’t end there! It grabs you yet again and steers you on a path dripping with rebellion within. Desire to continue the good fight, to embrace the wild, and to never surrender… Fucking brilliant! ❤ ❤ ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
You humble me all the way to the ground with your beautiful, passionate words, dear Danijel. I feel I have been writing from a far away abstract place, like I disassociate or something. But you find the ways I try to hang on to the hard surfaces where I can. And you let fly what wants to fly. I could not be more grateful for it. xx ❤ ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
Your writing is a perfect fusion of unearthing forgotten (and ignored) pains/hurts and liberation from those same things. It’s honest, it’s raw, it’s infused with energy that powers the wild within. Thank you. ❤ XX
LikeLiked by 1 person
❤ ❤ ❤ XXX
LikeLiked by 1 person
Xxx
LikeLiked by 1 person
What a goddamn great ending!!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Tomic!! Thank you so much. 🙏🏻♥️♥️🕊
LikeLiked by 1 person