#string of thoughts

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The flowers have bloomed again.

I'm sipping chemicals to wake up,

And I have wasted yet another winter

Praying for change.

The greatest illusion that you can ever take part in: is being daily narcotized into believing you need to become a carbon copy.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ

I lost myself

my voice has atrophied to the level of a parrot, repeating socially accepted things, successful theses, snarky remarks, counting likes on comments that no one gives a shit about

my eyes got un-used to the bright light, my vision atrophied, my eye muscles froze in defocus at the distance of the screen

my back is fused with the pillows that support the wall of my room

the old springs of the bed creak disgustingly, as it has survived several generations, dried many eyes from tears, and now it is absorbing mine.

It has become mine. or I have become its.

I am my room, my failures, my bags under my eyes, my love for beauty, my desire for the right, clean and clear, not complicated by the inconvenience of other people's baggage. I am saving myself for a life in which only those I can stand (having access to the authentic, intimate, familiar, non-public, non-facade, non-passerby and non-customer-seller me), with whom I am in tune and easy to get along with, co-understandable, at ease. I am my priceless, fragile, powerful, living core and my thick skin, which I grow and regularly sacrifice to the wrong world. my uncorrected traumas are my opportunity not to tarnish the last valuable thing I can still keep in me for a real, sincere, correct life, which will definitely begin someday.

But it's not that core that's looking back at me in the mirror, it's mostly my thick-skinned modernity. at the same time, it's me, at the same time, it's all my variations, and the skin is not rough to the touch, it's covered with moles, suffers from my sleeping patterns and inconsistent eating patterns.

My stubbornness in not accepting and not participating in what I deem to be wrong

my intellect and untrained mind, outdated, weathered and thinned out knowledge

my half-empty mental map

my lost agility, my former love of sports

my acquired shame to be in front of people, my reclusiveness as a defense against those who knowingly or unknowingly hurt me

I wonder if my consciousness hid something from my awareness in order not to interact with the trauma, not to tear the wound open

whether the fragments with which I was beaten, despised, disappointed, or discouraged have grown into my flesh

whether the situation requires surgery for complete recovery, or whether over time and with maturity they simply dissolved into it, metabolized into atoms and excreted from the body, as former cancer patients piss their cancer out, filtered out by their kidneys

How much am I still limping, how far am I from the norm, to which I strive so much as Christians strive for paradise? like birds that fly out for winter, because they know that they belong in warmer places, that they are meant to be there, that this is how it is and how it works in the balance of the world - naturally, harmoniously, idyllically

will I have to turn from a migratory bird into a tit, which, knowing wintering from birth, lives from spring to spring and no longer sees any other reality as correct?

my talent for running, jumping, childlike mobility and spatial freedom has grown into the freedom of thought and words

which manifests itself only when the world does not need my thick skin, and I am left alone with my core, and I sink down to it and let it breathe, speak, exist, and it speaks, shows me myself

it is where my values and principles come from, it is made up of bits and pieces of my nature, of the forests and fields and waters of this world, like every living thing, and of the words, deeds, principles and values of people and events that have impressed me throughout my life and whom I have strived and hope to be, to "grow up" and become like.

It has taught me to feel and think to the deepest depths of my sincerity, to be honest with myself. it is how I appreciate art, the power of someone else's thought and someone else's view - their experience of this world's offerings in color, sound, space, imagination.

My core is my lighthouse and my marina, my home and my shell, with which I learned to exist and function in the physical world. My core is my family, its ideal version

if only I could separate-it-not from myself.

if only I could need-not to bury myself and bury it

if only I could put on some comfortable armor instead of this thick skin and learn how to defend myself effectively, morally, and in accordance with my views, without fear of life's wounds, because I would know how to heal those wounds and how to recover from diseases.

then my happiness would have no artificial limits, only natural and temporary misfortunes of life

I'd reach for you like leaves towards the sun

I'd love you like the moss loves rain

I'd tell you all the happy things

And sad things

I'd tell you everything

I'd tell you every part of me