THE FIRST OF ME: 2020

It could be true that I will be the person that I never dared to be. I am balancing on unstable scales blind-folded so that when I fall, the pain will not be as great or as immediate as you see. I have managed to keep a tight grasp on this numbness that is my invisible cloak. For with my pain, I can feel the presence of that ugly feeling as I acknowledge that the world is to someone a marvel whilst at the same time to another, a horror. For in my moments of hysteria, others revelled in delight. I couldn’t close my eyes because I swore that I would be braver if I kept looking and I suppose that this is true. The more that I forced myself to look, the more the colour of the world bled from my eyes. It is why I have shut myself so much from the world and from people who know me, keeping myself obsolete and desperate for a pleasure that came once in a blue moon but that I would never accept. It is because of this I have put myself through careless adventures and intense pains to replicate the light that once was inside of me. I am in a perpetual state of trying to master this feeling that plays games with me like I’m a child. What is it like to really start anew? This pattern I know like the back of my hand, sometimes you wonder if the guilty delights are as close to the freedom I dream about. Was that girl the last time I would be free? Or do I still cling to the innocence of the girl that thought ‘murder’ was just a word? She didn’t know the worlds would collide when she placed herself between them. She didn’t know her pain would grant others relief, she didn’t know that if she offered herself to the world like a sacrifice, they would forget about her ordeals. She didn’t know that she didn’t smile enough because she was unknown to the sadness that was waiting to manifest. She didn’t know that she wouldn’t be able to look at words the same way again when each sign pointed to them. Each year she hoped for a hand to pull her out of those prison bars, she had done nothing wrong but somehow along the way believed herself to be the criminal she took the place of. Did she think one day she would write about her life like it was a movie? Did she think that life could be as confusing as the gazes she tried to look away from? Did she think there was happiness in neon lights, warm hands and smiles and kind eyes? Were scarlet ribbons and transcendent aching the gateway to another world that she was always afraid to step in but finally entered in with blindfolded vision? What is this world, I ask a million times to a voice that only whispers like the wind? Do I write in vain? Does she think the sapphire dancer is a leap away? I’m already blindfolded, if I fall, the pain will hurt less I tell myself. I took many ice-cold stabs from you this year and if I am never to see him again, perhaps it is for the best like you say. I screwed it up. But I promised myself I am fierce like the sun that never fails to rise and graceful like the waves that come and go. The truth seems to be that I’m immersed in hysteria but shattered to the point that my beauty is broken and bleeding all over and no one can help but see it when they look at me.   

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