Manhood via 2014


A man walked into a room (yes, it starts like a bad joke) and showed me a thousand pictures. A thousand pictures of what would happen to me if I did crystal meth, what would happen if I tried cocaine, what would happen if I tried heroine, what would happen if I smoked cigarettes, what would happen if I drank alcohol, what would happen if I had sex without protection.


I would’ve rather known at the time that every single one of my friends would be doing all those things all around me all the time when I grew up. Tripping off skyscrapers into bed folds and nestling themselves in on a perfect day. Sipping from nipples to replace their minds with eggshells and chatter boxes. Hitting bags of air to escape themselves and their own desperate need for nonexistence. Licking at liquids to feel their brains fall on the floor, raw, and seize all the while forgetting the feeling of what it truly means to be raw.


I chose a mind and worship encapsulated inside my own bones. A perspective untainted by lack of configuration. Though with a choice such as this I still had to stomach the sight of my fellow children descending to vacancy. With the wave of bodies came the wave of boredom and my own self-absorbed depression as every inch of fence post stacked higher and my friends unable to climb.


Thumping rhythms echoed down the empty city into my eardrums. MINE. Lights flashed and reflected and harmonies heard gave hearts a leap. Men like leaves brushed into piles all swirling like a vortex around one another was a beautiful sight that gave little use to lungs. As descriptions




                                                                                    the page…


Poems and words become useless to describe the seen occupied by the most angelic of youths. Finally, putting together their most pathetic parts to be seen and heard. Apart of a social pariah, I am. Music resounding, I am finally found and boredom lost, and thoughts of a return to youth fold within the confines of space and time. Fleeting thoughts of an end swell up like flooded dams broken on ankles of poor souls who only wanted to stretch their legs past the restrains of their teacher’s words on drug addiction. I am found amongst the rubble of the flood of 94’.


And at the greatest length I survive but fail to feel like I did so long ago hovering above my seat in the classroom. Unable to find myself. I feel the veil descended over my eyes and I cannot find a path to follow. Unable to move. I’ve lost my grip on what felt familiar to me. In this sphere I press against I grow cold. Dirt slathered over top of me that stinks of my father’s breath pushes me to dig. Torches light caves I watch for and follow desperately. The images of the thumping rhythms float in my head and I know I have grown far from them now. Once more I have outgrown my own fantasies.


In this place, devoid of life or frolic, I reach and find a torch alit. A loving hand covers mine. I feel… love… I feel the warm summer light against my face, I feel a laugh begin deep in my throat, I feel a pale morning’s beginning, and I feel a passiveness cover my past obligations of manly struggle. I am a fool. I am a man.


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