try to have control
the waves come and go, and my buoy floats in the darkest of darks
i’m not a victim or a product of my experiences. i try to escape the tragic to make my life okay. if i proclaim myself the victim, i’m digging myself into a hole without the intent to escape it. i’ll remove the agency from any situation, good or bad, take on the narrative, no, the expectation of always losing. even in the bad i cannot be a victim. i’d rather be a villain!
when it’s good i believe life can only be good if i let it. i think we’d all like to believe that life, the world, humans, ourselves, all have a tendency to be good. maybe if we reshape the meaning of the word, everything can be good. but this leaves no room for victim or villain. maybe it’s better that way— if we never had a word for bad, evil, sick twisted and demented, nothing would ever be that way. maybe that’s just not true for this world. this reality.
but in my mind i can make everything divine. worship the cathedrals of things that just exist, the sheer insanity that i haven’t seen everything around me be constructed, but that it all is. i was born into a world already paved with concrete. i begin my life in a house that’s already bought, clothes that already fit me, people that already love me. it’s divine that things in life have the ability to work out. that we have words, celebrations, religions for pleasure.
sometimes it changes at the drop of a second. a sudden shift like the droning on of clouds over a sunny sky, there and not and there again. it feels like gambling, but i guess that’s all life is. trust binds my moments from one to the next, like the trust that i won’t fall while walking. each step forward is a winning gamble that i’ll be able to catch myself. and i always do.
the most inner feelings dichotomize between okay and not okay. discomfort or the lack thereof. i guess that also insinuates an expectation for displeasure, that the resting state is upset, and joy must be earned. i’d like it to be simple and i try to have control.
even when it’s the physical it’s all in my head. everything i experience passes through my brain, each glance and sound and thought. but she does things i can’t control. i feel like i don’t know how to oscillate between happy and sad, or even discern it.
the melancholy comes and starts in my heart. the emotions start there and drag me like a puppet by my veins. it all feels very thorough, meticulous. calculated efforts to efficiently diffuse the numbness.
but the joy begins from without. a ray of the sun, a word from a neighbor. banalities that stretch my lips from cheek to cheek, a smile that then radiates throughout my entire body. with the magnitude and ever presence of the waves that move the sea, i am changed by the ever insisting whims of my emotions. and all feelings are a gift.