We live in a world of splintered equality, where equal means two differing things for the two differing sides.
We have the equality that brings the illusion of equality, you live in a life that doesn't wrong you based on who you are because you are the norm. You're the greetings card smile, you're the perfect shade of foundation, you're the perfect blend of all creation, you pay all your bills and watch the news and when faced with the idea that inequatily is raging and blooming from everywhere you love, you try to help. You try to help as though it's a deadly disease in which you're immune, fundraising, article bashing, protesting, tweeting, hashtagging and wrist band wearing. You help from the comfort of your cynically equal life as you sip your herbal tea, hug your opposite sexed spouse and climb into bed, with the worry that all this worry will cause you wrinkles on your crayon 'flesh' skin.
Then there is the other side, where equality is an extended twisted joke, hanging over everything you do like a rancid smell clinging to that rotton wound. When you express difference by whom you love, your equality is weakened because now you are a 'gay' friend. When you're born to a family with a different shade of skin to the one that has been glorified, normalised and expected your equality is now something others give to you like favours, you're now the neighbour who bled diversity into this town. When you have legs that don't work or another 'disability' your equality is mistaken for the 'luck' that modern science has been good enough to give you an equal opportunity. When you live in a world where equality is a word that seems to be misused as much as literally you become cynical that equality is even possible.
We are judgemental by nature, or so we are told. That biologically we seek out the stronger beings, the smarter beings, the ones who will lead us further onwards to excellence, but we are more than whatever we are told we have the choice to decide. As for now, I'll wait and I'll watch the 'equal' days blend into 'equal' nights and I'll listen to everyone voice their views on human rights. I'll sit back and see a girl in my class as she writhes at a term she believes is against her feminine rights. I'll walk along the road with my hair down and curly and I'll watch all the people stare and call me a 'caramel beauty' and I'll sit down to dinner with my grandparents present, and hear them spout views on the latest immigrant development as we share a meal of Moroccan decent as they drink wine from across the border and even travel to holiday in these other places. I'll bide my time in this inequality and I'll do my very best to get the very best of the parts of me that can still benefit from the turntable of equality.
I’m trying to dissipate into mystical abysses, but how can when my mind can hardly stay awake? Every breath I take is a breath closer to my last one. Fate lies in every move I make. Dreams are just escapes because my mind cannot bear the truth. The truth that this is my life, a confusing and dark place where I can't seem to even call my own mind a home. A place where the walls close in, and I can't think straight because every emotion that pours out of my soul is vulnerable to be judged. What can I do here, but simply be alive? I cannot feel alive, simply I am just breathing and living. Save me from my mind, since even here I can't find a way out. Darkness from all corners of every word I write and every thought I think. Happiness now is just a memory that seems to have faded away into the darkest depths of my soul. Yet still there is a part of me that longs to be the person I truly am, beneath this mystical abyss that suffocates me alive.
As I walked across the stage, I didn't feel my life change. Everyone has always told me that today would be some magical day. But really, I was just counting down the minutes until I could go home and curl up next to the man I love. I wasn't interested in being surrounded by hundreds of sweat-covered adolescents who never seemed to care much for me either. For half of high school, I don't feel like I was ever really there. Freshman year, I was chasing an older boy who lived five hours away because I sure he loved me. Sophomore year, I was just trying to find someone to give me love and ended up chasing right back after the same older guy from the year before. Then junior year came, and I swore I was done begging to be loved by a guy who didn't seem to love me at all. In turn, I fell in love with a guy who tried to give me his all but came up just a little too short. He wasn't quite capable of loving me fully because he too had once loved a little too hard. I spent half of that year heartbroken and searching. By the time summer came, I found the love of my life. I spent my summer then my senior year consumed with this amazing guy. I would count down the days and then the hours until I was out of that place to just spend a nice, quiet night with him. I spent my high school experience chasing after guys and giving my heart away far too easily. But once I met the one who made it all count, it seemed as if these big moments were insignificant. My life didn't change by simply walking across a stage. My life changed the moment when the people in it really started to matter.
The dream started fine. I was on a vacation by the ocean. But then this rocket, intended for some Elon Musk mission, exploded over the sky somewhere North. Then, this big passenger plane landed on a deserted road right near me and I could see inside and I could see terrorists taking over the plane. Nobody else was around. I knew I had to try to stop it from taking off. I was looking for things I could throw into the jet engine. Then I woke up. On the couch. Slept too long. But I was still tired. And it was Sunday. I wanted to write. But how can I write in such a scary world, where things explode, and the things that don't are stolen? I'm getting old. The things I used to care about, I don't anymore. I feel more comfortable in my own skin, now, even as it ages, and itches. Time may heal, but time also wounds.
It’s dull and boring, but it’s homeostatic. It’s in the cellar. It’s in the attic. Wishing will never make it better. "Want" is the first rain drop of coming destruction. It is the "Indian Summer" of our impending doom. It is a "Garbage-Truck Holiday" with overflowing trash-bins in our room. Frugality is the first step towards freedom. Frugality is a type of inverted wealth. Frugality is sweet fragrance to the Lord’s disciples; the specter of fear to greedy corporations. Frugality is the death bullet to stockholders and their hillside-mansion dreams. It is the antidote to the disease of world domination schemes. It is a wrecking ball rolling through the halls of crystal statues; sculptures of glass crash in its path.