What do I want most in this world? Free expression. The peaceful resistance, push through it, open my ribcage like birds’ wings, my stomach, slice it with a scalpel. Blood. I want the openness to be the freedom. I don’t want to hold on anymore. You can fucking have it. You can fucking take it. Make it beautiful because where it sits inside me is disgusting like death come too early. No time for introspection, no time for final stages, grief, moments held like all of the power of gravity in your right hand, balled to fist, while the rooted trees and concrete sidewalks float up and away.
Push through all the no’s. All the bullshit. All the haters. All the disbelievers. I hope I can carry this weight all the way to the water and let it sit in the river, while I jump from high rocks. Enter the water feet first, at high speed. When I reach the point of zero down/full inevitable return, I’m suspended. I’m so in love it’s goofy. I flap my feet and push towards the oxygen. I’m afraid, but the rush is so sweet. The rush of the fall and the micro-movements to make sure my entry is without head smacking rocks, bloodied.
Listening.
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