A spirit pervades me, one which does not reflect my appearance. Not in the slightest. Yet, nevertheless, I feel compelled to heed its call. But the consequences of doing so would put my safety at risk. Perhaps lead me to punishments most dire from those who despise how free I truly am.

O’, the feelings that I harbor and suppress…

The whims I wish to indulge in…

Sage-like spirit, how I miss your calls, that I have long since ignored and silenced, for my false sense of security, and false sense of freedom and pride (which eluded me anyhow, and only served to deepen the chasm of misery that grows into my heart, wedging it apart). Please, won’t you come back, to keep me company? I know you are there, even if you are weak and defeated, but still simultaneously so strong and resilient and forgiving. How I hurt for you…

Body and essence both feel a strong urge to play in this realm, this space of unadulterated freedom and absolute liberation, with this wondrous slice of Being supplanted in me, that beckons me to frolic in a space beyond my preconceived notions, and the limitations of my ideals and beliefs.

Yet, it’s all so fearsome and terrifying. This spits in the face of everything I’ve known to be true and real. Declares, with a cackle and a grin, that it is fake, that it is stupid, and that it deserves to be relentlessly mocked and opposed.

However, even now, I am always more than a little excited by its prospects.

Calls sound out from inside, craving that which is of a more “delicate” nature. Passionate, romantic, emotional, mysterious, chaotic, wild, rambunctious…it is what my soul wants and needs. My spirit seeks that which is “tougher”, enamored with the stoic, the orderly, the disciplined, the stubborn and steadfast, the aloof and somewhat. Ringing out loudly in my ears, these wants and needs are wont to do. I, my real I, not some outwardly ordained I/Self, imposed from geists that are neither accept nor am friendly towards, I seek to be both and neither, everything and nothing. Outside of the two way street, while also inhabiting both lanes. Simultaneously negate and affirm infinity and zero, in both directions. The possibilities are truly endless, for I k ow that I was born freed from the prison that wishes to constrict the many who revel in their slavery. But…sadly, I am denied it. All of this. Told to not even think about it. “No, I forbid it!”, the stern voice decrees with a menacing glare and a vicious sneer. Outside forces do not wish for me to revel in my true self. So I must lock away who I really am. Doomed to revolt against that which Nature gifted me with, what it wanted me to regard as a blessing, not as a curse. Maybe even hate it, try to kill it. Choke it and strangle it. And why? Because…I don’t know why. The world wishes it to be so, and I feel obligated to grant it its wish. All because that which I possess, apparently bars me from experiencing this other side. Yet, it isn’t an “other side”, is it? That implies it was unknown to me. A mystery. Separated from my being. Outside of who I was. But it wasn’t. Even now, as I seek desperately to escape it, it’s still there. My tortured soul cries out in anguish for me to listen, to hear it out, to love it and embrace it.

I howl in pain. Aching fills me. Existence becomes a trap, a mechanism of torture, a nightmarish fluke that I cannot seem to be free of, even in death. O’, the pain, the agony, how it fills my veins and bones. Sometimes, it becomes so great, my lungs cannot pump air, and I find myself without breath. All I can think when my gaze falls upon my own Self, is how much I wish I simply were not.

Torn apart, in both body and soul, I seem to be. Many say this is my destiny, how my path is slated to come to a conclusion. But is that really the case? Or is this merely the result of being deemed such a threat, that even those who claim to stand by me will turn their backs and celebrate my demise? If all of this were gone, would I still feel the same way? If I weren’t under attack constantly, and being told to shove it, to close myself up or face a noose, would I still be wanting to walk into my own grave, and lay myself down?

Doubt it.

O’, what I wish I was…and am too afraid to be.


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