I am my father's daughter. So much. From the length of my fingers to the curl in my golden brown hair. to the overwhelming guilt, the shame of never being perfect. ever ever reaching--a constant, unreasonable goal.
I don't want to be my father's daughter. Just lately I got another chance to experience simplicity and calm. Just this time, I can't let it go. I go back to whatever the hell last year was. my eyes closed whenever the people i was with opened theirs. stacked against a door frame lazily, displayed like the imibicle i had to be for a year to experience that kind of life because it was easy. About to fall into new lives as much as i could. yes. that was easy. Knowing the end result was to tear a little part of my morals, dignity and shame out of me forever.
Amazing how partial those memories are. Just like the little chaotic nightmares they were at the time. The only thing i've retained is the shamelessness, maybe. It's helped me to break down in front of people, made me want to scream at people when they put on too much face, bumbling about some dreary materialistic lifestyle as if it's something to live for. made me bawl my frustrations and embrace everything because freedom is the appeal of being human.
see the way every other half lives. i want to stare at city lights over the Baltimore Beltway, only cement and speeding cars underneath my feet as I stand fixed on the bridge, the gas fumes and the wind sucking the life straight out of me in a streaming horizontal fog.
i don't know if i see all that much beauty in truth. i think i see quite a lot of it in all the lies we can pump into our minds, convincing ourselves we're spending some worthwhile time like this. the unintentional will power within us all.
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