Always complaining, if I’m being transparent
It’s like running into a wall
Partly because you’re frustrated
partly because there’s a little idea you have that if you slam into it with enough force,
The little pre-existing cracks in the wall will grow and hopefully become large enough
Where you can shove your fist through.
Although… who is to say what brought on those small cracks?
If not the smaller nudges at the wall, silly attempts to shoulder it a couple inches…
nudge, nudge, just to see if it would buckle. See if you could garner some distance
You didn’t know, you were a child
But tireless and tiresome persistence amasses
To the point where the effort from pushback becomes visible
Further solidifying the foundation’s stability, and acting as small reminders
embedded each time, time stamps for both of us
Childish notions dawdle, keeping you company.
They are simple and addictive, satisfying such as
thinking you can tear away at the wall (with your bare hands that is).
You think this will accomplish a hole big enough to climb through:
Imagine the triumph upheaving from the rubble you demolished yourself
When it’ll actually just make small ones at best.
Enough to see through them and witness what’s going on outside
Which might be even worse if you can poke your fingers through,
Fumbling at something so obviously far away.
And if someone passes by and knows you’re there
Hell, they might try to grab and pull you, urging you to squeeze through
But you’re too big for that
…maybe you can (make a bigger hole, that is)
slamming into the wall with even greater force
As if you haven’t done that enough where you can’t feel anymore
and you find it hard to conceptualize the feeling of the surface buckling
When it’s your legs that buckle, like you’re the one stacked with layers of cement.
Withstanding forces from outside, and from within.
Maybe they’ll try to use tools to get you through
A serious effort…which excites you but scares you
Because it might actually work. and that’s cheating if someone else intervenes like that.
You know you could so easily do it, literally anyone wouldn’t think about it.
But you believe you’ve got to do it on your own, otherwise
it doesn’t count.
Funny thing is, the more you think about it
You find yourself feeling a little guilty.
because that wall has protected you from so many unwanted things.
things there are others in ur place unfortunately get into, bc they have no protection like you do.
You feel sort of bad for constantly battering on the wall, realizing that
while the rest of the world sees it as a wall, maybe it’s more a gate:
keeping the world away from you, not the other way around.
Selfish or protective? Protective or suffocating?
maybe the world doesn’t deserve someone like you?
the world won’t cherish you the way you cherish it
As something ineffable and precious
A constant equilibrium that confounds, yet mulishly serves its purpose
making you question yourself and what you’re doing
Inducing grief, towards yourself no less, that you didn’t think you harbored all that deeply
But respect for what it procures nonetheless.
(However diminishing, contemptible, and futile reality seems to stretch itself out to).
At some point there is bound to exist
small, periodic undoings
Slumping against the wall, over-extertness bloats your body
your head pulsing to the cadence of your repetitive strikes, aggravatingly enough
Exhausting
exhausting isn’t how you describe it
But it certainly is how people around you feel: Exhausted from bearing witness to countless failed attempts
A final dull ”thump” against the wall, marking another defeat
Exasperated by its monotony, emptying cries that now hear as inept wailing
pitiless, insufferable
And considerably pedestrian, clumping into the white noise of everyday sounds
So in conclusion
Making a window, of any size, in reality
Is worse than not knowing. because if you don’t know, you don’t have an awareness of what you’re missing
Since by that logic, you can’t really miss it, right?
