I saw a woman on the street today, walking slowly with her red, wavy, long hair and a smile that reminded me of the first hours of sunrise, she was looking at the baby on her chest. The baby, fast asleep.
I couldn't enjoy her joy because I am too caught up in my sadness. Instead, I saw her hair, I felt her warm freshness and I felt poisoned, as I always do.
I am torn between enjoying life and drawing. See, drowning is how life has felt ever since I wasn't born yet, that is the simple and comfortable place I can stay.
Poisoned is my safe place, and so poisoned is my entire existence.
Poisoned by unfinished things, by envy and jealousy, by sadness, by hate. So much hate in my blood, I get dizzy by the memories and the imaginations of fights, my blood is easily boiled at any small thing, but then again. how could it not, in all the injustice of the disgusting society we live in?
I wish I was free and safe, to walk in the woods, fearless, talking to whoever consents, learning. Having other beings for an afternoon with tea in the winter, learning from each other, sharing a laugh or two.
I imagine my happy life and I see a forest, and a house, with a fire near the corner and a teapot steaming over it. I see myself writing in next to a window, looking outside and seeing green, wet leaves, and grass, tree trunks, and flowers, mushrooms too. I see a little shelter in the middle of the garden, a triangular-shaped room made almost entirely of glass, I see the ivy hanging from the ceiling and an old stove in the middle, rugs, cushions, candles and a box, on top of it, my notebooks and crystals and cards.
I see herbs and water too, I smell eucalyptus steaming from the stove, and I feel alone, yet complete. I know that the world is safe for all living beings equally, and I have loved ones and strangers coming over for tea each afternoon, some stay the night, some leave, with some we get dizzy and dance, though I always dance, free.
And some days, someone special comes to visit, though some others, I leave to visit them. We share walks in the forest, picnics in the park, we go to the movies, to restaurants and on journeys in our van and our feet. They still live in the city, but I live nearby. We are free, we are loved and we are happy.
It all is so far that seems impossible, and honestly, it must be.
My restraints are too tight to ever be free from them, I have no hope but overwhelming feelings of impotence. Unfinished books, unfinished projects, unfinished self, and so much work ahead and right now, to just survive me.
It sounds ridiculous, I am trying to survive me. But it is the truth, my own worst enemy is me, my past, my fears, my desires, the things I care about, my love and my sadness, my family, my future, all that I am is what plays against me every single day of my life.
So I am torn, between who I want to be, who I could be, and where I am, inside this prison slowly built by me as I saw my mother, my father, my classmates, my friends, my foes, my lovers, and the entire world, hate themselves and everyone, and everything else.