IN MY DEEPEST SLUMBERS,
I DREAMED OF A REALITY.
ONE TO ESCAPE THIS PHANTASMAGORIA…

How bittersweet are the words misspoken
From loose lips—
From the love that you’ve been withholding.

My mind has been echoing with these phrases,
Shouting at me,
As deviant, moral protests:
“WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD!”
“F%CK SOCIAL MEDIA!”
“TO HELL WITH CONFORMITY!”
“LET ART BE ART!”
“YOU DO YOU!”
“LET LOVE BE A CONCEPT—NOT A REALITY!”
“GIVE US SPACE TO BREATHE!”

And in the near-piercing absence of these cries,
I found myself to be
A man of my word
And a woman of my world.

The object of my affection which I created with such care,
Such attention,
Felt incomplete and purposeless.
So I smashed it against the wall,
Alongside my head,
And withdrew from the pounding
With shards in my chest
And blood painting my arm.

I wore this new appearance
As a knight does their armor:
Fully aware of the stereotypes that need to be fulfilled,
But confident enough to revel in the reality
Behind a reflective mask.

So I took time for myself
As villagers and passersby
Took time to see themselves
In the reflection of my silver anxieties
And the warrior-like figure that they projected
On these instabilities.

As I began to write
And journal on the hillside of my mind,
I noticed the setting sun,
And the beauty that hinged
In the sparseness
Before darkness.

A ray of sunlight glinted the shards still shading my skin,
And I,
No longer feeling revitalized by my red appearance,
Removed the words that cut me so
And ventured into a discotheque.

Let it be known that by the final song,
The mirage of people will vanquish the premises,
And leave a hollowness coated in sweet mercury
That is polarizing and deadly.

And let it be known that by the final song,
The mirage of alter-egos will vanquish the mind,
And leave a hollowness coated in misunderstanding
That is deadly if not properly arrogated.

WHEN I AWOKE, I FOUND A NEW LANGUAGE ON THE TIP OF MY TONGUE.
AND YOU WERE GONE.
AND I FINALLY UNDERSTOOD:
YOU’RE ON YOUR OWN, KID