I wish that I could turn my eyes inside out
Th hunger artist stayed in his cage, not eating, draining away. Not because he was just so good at the art of starvation, but because he never found any food good enough to eat. I am in many ways that hunger artist. I am in this place...this cage...behind this wall, not because I enjoy being alone or being miserable, but because I think I deserve it.
Many days I sit at home and cry because I am so miserable and alone. What stops me from picking up a phone and calling someone? What stops me from leaving home and finding my own adventures? I am perfectly capable of doing so. When I need something or need to know something (What's the time? May I borrow a pencil?) I am perfectly capable of opening my mouth and doing it. So why not, even when those friendships begin to dwindle away, do I not rush out to try to save them? If I am so lonely, so unhappy, so miserable--why not do everything I can to change that?
Because that would be too hard. It's much easier to be at home and be miserable and feel sorry for myself and waste away in front of the TV than it is to live: Go out in the world and spread my naked arms, my naked legs, my naked frame...no makeup...hair pulled back and scream to the world, "here I am! Look at me! Judge me at Your will. Reject me if you must. Either way, here I am!" That terrifies me.
But I do know I'm tired of my cage, of my wall with my 20 years of built in defenses. I am ready to live, but yet I can't. I have already realized I have to rely on me and no matter who did what to me in the past, I'm the only person accountable for the present--I can't blame anyone but me. I have realized that I must first love me before I can ever truly be happy--no outside force can do what I can do for myself. I have realized that I have to be willing to be brave and strong and climb out out of my grave and go naked into the sun. But yet I can't. And I find myself looking for easy ways out, and burrying myself deeper. Seeking questions in places that won't yield answers. And I say questions because I have all the answers. I know and have known for sometime the answers all add up to 42, but I have no idea what the questions are. What are all the answers supposed to mean?
In middle/high school, I didn't know the answers so I wanted to die. Fearing there were no answers, I didn't have any other choice. Senior year/college I have all the answers, but I don't know what to do with them, so frequently I just find ways to hurt myself.
What do I do, where do I go, who am I and when the fuck will it all end? I wanna scream it and scream it and scream it as loud as I can--tears pouring down my face-- and as naked as the day I was born from the highest mountain top until I become dizzy and faint and lose consciousness. With the earth on my skin, the sickly cool of the wind, I want to fall down, down the side and dissappear into the fog. I want to crash to the bottom and dissolve into a million little pieces. Slowly I will gather those pieces together and make me. For the first time I will open my eyes and breathe.
Many days I sit at home and cry because I am so miserable and alone. What stops me from picking up a phone and calling someone? What stops me from leaving home and finding my own adventures? I am perfectly capable of doing so. When I need something or need to know something (What's the time? May I borrow a pencil?) I am perfectly capable of opening my mouth and doing it. So why not, even when those friendships begin to dwindle away, do I not rush out to try to save them? If I am so lonely, so unhappy, so miserable--why not do everything I can to change that?
Because that would be too hard. It's much easier to be at home and be miserable and feel sorry for myself and waste away in front of the TV than it is to live: Go out in the world and spread my naked arms, my naked legs, my naked frame...no makeup...hair pulled back and scream to the world, "here I am! Look at me! Judge me at Your will. Reject me if you must. Either way, here I am!" That terrifies me.
But I do know I'm tired of my cage, of my wall with my 20 years of built in defenses. I am ready to live, but yet I can't. I have already realized I have to rely on me and no matter who did what to me in the past, I'm the only person accountable for the present--I can't blame anyone but me. I have realized that I must first love me before I can ever truly be happy--no outside force can do what I can do for myself. I have realized that I have to be willing to be brave and strong and climb out out of my grave and go naked into the sun. But yet I can't. And I find myself looking for easy ways out, and burrying myself deeper. Seeking questions in places that won't yield answers. And I say questions because I have all the answers. I know and have known for sometime the answers all add up to 42, but I have no idea what the questions are. What are all the answers supposed to mean?
In middle/high school, I didn't know the answers so I wanted to die. Fearing there were no answers, I didn't have any other choice. Senior year/college I have all the answers, but I don't know what to do with them, so frequently I just find ways to hurt myself.
What do I do, where do I go, who am I and when the fuck will it all end? I wanna scream it and scream it and scream it as loud as I can--tears pouring down my face-- and as naked as the day I was born from the highest mountain top until I become dizzy and faint and lose consciousness. With the earth on my skin, the sickly cool of the wind, I want to fall down, down the side and dissappear into the fog. I want to crash to the bottom and dissolve into a million little pieces. Slowly I will gather those pieces together and make me. For the first time I will open my eyes and breathe.