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Something or other

by Cassandra Michalakis

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 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?

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