The Stars Threw Down Their Spears
When the stars cave in. The Universe explodes. I’ll call myself Glory, because that’s what I’ll be then. A glorified introspection of realization. I came looking for the Universe, burnt a hole in the atmosphere, landed on the moon and dug through its canyons until there was nothing left, I trashed Mars looking for the lost scriptures of my life, all the way to Pluto, until I discovered, that the entire time, the Universe had been above me, I had just forgotten to look up. And that is me right now. My life. Way back when, in the good old days when realization came naturally, and I wasn’t self-obsessed and lost inside of what I thought to be an addiction, but it really was just my personality…way back when I didn’t analyze and deny and tear apart every emotion, feeling that I felt, when I didn’t hack myself to pieces looking for what was missing, when I was still whole because I didn’t think to think about not being complete, way back then, I was me. Some rotations and 112 degrees later, stuck between illusion, allusion, and forgetfulness, I see that retrospection is a bitch that I refused to look at, in my negligence of the future, and my only compulsion to delve inside instead of all around, I see…I SEE. That I was perfect. I knew things. I could write in twenty-something different ancient scripts, read hieroglyphics and runes. Recite the dogmas of sixty seven religions, and I knew the existence of every great conqueror of the middle ages. But it wasn’t important in the end. It was important what I knew. I had to take my research a little further. To a place where scientific depth shouldn’t exist, and most certainly doesn’t belong. I looked INSIDE. Inside, where all of my secrets lay. My emotions exposed. My every thought restated, over thought, analyzed, edited, and typed again. Nothing is natural now. Not when I have taken the world and twisted it into a mangled heap of torn papers and tears, because I came looking for something that was not missing. I came trying to find what was needed, when it was there the entire time. No, I wasn’t my knowledge. I wasn’t the facts I stored inside. I was my own enlightenment. I had the motivation to become something. I had the drive to know. To learn. To become. To create. To expand. But everything is put up onto a STOP sign ROAD CONSTUCTION AHEAD, go no farther, when you turn to look back. Look inside at things that can’t be seen. I was me then. What am I now? Plasticine. I am nothing but this. What is this? It’s me competing with the world, because now, I have the potential to be one of the norms. If I’m not careful, if I don’t stand out, I’ll fall down like everyone else. So I walk a tightrope of who I am not, pretending to be this entity that I have never been, because I lost myself in the search. And what is left? I want to be intelligent again. Quiet. The smart one in the back. Beautiful. Reserved. Dignified. But I am nothing now. Nothing. But This.
Forgive me.
Forgive me.