Modern life can feel so despairingly empty at times. Here on this plane, you're either sleeping or awake. Half consciousness isn't cutting it. The in-between place where I spend much of my time. Look around at the botoxed granola mommies, pumped up on toxins and keto coffee and be like the churchy PAC moms who whisper things their insurance-salesman husbands say about SOGI and the ever changing genders. Fuck, I want to raise my kids in the mountains.
Sexpot cutie with the sad steely eyes, why are you so blue? Did you not spank yourself today? Did you listen to chiselled Christian college boys in the small town cafe yammer on about their trivial woes and think, that vulnerability is nice. Too bad it's wasted on Jesus.
Fuck dogma. Fuck ideology.
In high school, I dated a Christian boy for a bit. He was handsome and sweet. But I was a whimsical free spirit who flew around without constraints, and he was devoted to the Lord. Praise be to Yeshua that it didn't work out. I’d feel more vacuous than I already do.
I’m scared of minds that can’t be changed. Mine changes all the time.
You're a fireball in bed, what's wrong with your head? I soaked the place in kerosene and it's been burning ever since. Doukhobor habits. Spirit wrestling through labyrinths of self-doubt and uneasy inner knowing since we live under the helm of impending doom. On the outside I look like everyone else. I take care of my face, though the grimaces aren't easily hidden these days, I try to keep up with the mindless conversations but I prefer to discuss esoterics. I don't care about where you get your Botox or that stupid bigoted thing your husband said, but I laugh and pretend I do. No use for the socialist feminist here.
I don't like the veils I wear, but it's easier than giving a straight look inside. Too many little monsters within. She's an ugly,beautiful thing. That’s what they're thinking, if they’re thinking of you at all.
I want to be exhalted. I want to fall into oneness, I want to expose my monsters sometimes without losing you. You won't leave, will you? I'll talk to those little ego marchers and reassure them that they don't need to fight for me anymore. I'll put those babies to bed, gently kiss their ugly heads and tuck them safe into a distant memory in a long forgotten room. If only.
I'm nervous to know what I know. I must've met myself in a past life and ruined it. Maybe I was a warrior queen. Maybe I had lovers at my beck and call, an army at my back. Maybe I fucked the day away and went to war at night. Maybe I was a forest nymph, or a Druid worshipping at the Oak. Maybe I was a bohemian who spent the day engulfed in creating art. Fuck the social conventions. Fuck the proasic routines. Whoever I was, I made sparks. I was more sure of myself back then. I knew how to survive.
Today, cognitive dissonance rings like a blaring alarm. I just press the snooze button. I'm always halfway in on decisions, sitting criss-cross apple sauce in the hollowest part of the valley between two impossible, fucking beautiful mountains, not knowing exactly what I want. Afraid to admit that I want to view life from the top of both peaks, for they both have spectacular views. So I nap for a bit. I wake up naked and I drink slowly from the glacier-fed creek and I let the water dribble down my chin as if I were devouring a freshly bitten peach. I'm a little selfish sometimes.
But I'm trying to get better at that.
It's not easy when it feels so lonely here.
Comments