All Too Human

17 Aug

Perhaps it is unethical of me to require magic when I do not possess it myself. It is surreal to believe in a fantasy of continuous return, when you are barely present right now.
It is a flaunted reality they all believe in and I am absent. I am absent in mind, body and soul; I cannot pin point myself on a map to save my life. Perhaps I have not acquired the power to believe in anything yet; maybe that is the only barrier between me and this world.
Sometimes you are more quiet on the inside than on the outside; sometimes it’s not peace; it’s an undermined war. You know that keeping still won’t awaken the terrors and won’t allow the body counts. You know that creeping around hiding from your own voices is how you get to flaunt a blank unreciprocated emotion.
You cuddle with your aggression and your anguish swollen feet feel heavy and half dead. You have no roots, you have feet that feel and touch the world alone. You have no skill but walking, and the moment you begin; it rarely ever stops. So you dwell in your pause until your prose attempts to move you, to no avail.
Perhaps it is unethical to exist among those who forget about their feet way too soon and blame them for taking root…
So I put away my boots and I press my feet into toxic ground in hopes of becoming immune. I stop feeling as they have informed me; and a sense of appalling foreignness bestows itself on me.
I turn it all off and I refrain in a shadow of a poisonous city. Foreign and foraged, my name crumbles into sheer letters I have learned to answer to. Nothing within and everything without; I am not magic, I am real.
“Human, All too Human”-F.N

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