Untouchable

I’m standing alone in an open field and close my eyes. I picture everything that could have been and for less than a second it doesn’t matter. But then, as usual, it comes rushing in. All the things I still cannot seem to touch. They’re there in my mind but remain unseen. I feel unfair to crave more than what I have. I feel inadequate when I feel as though I’ve failed to choose. It should be as easy as breathing and yet, it isn’t. I feel uneasy when I feel the responsibility of the words I could say to touch somebody else’s world. I might not have taken the crowded street, but I did take one single road and I have walked through it against all odds. I only have $20 to show for myself and I’m not quite sure if that’s enough to make it through.

Am I using my mind incorrectly that I have not yet attracted it all? Or am I just inhumanly impatient? I don’t know. But I do know I must carry on. I must pretend to touch whatever my heart desires.

What has she done? How did she get to have it all? Does she even know what she has found? Is my eagerness what’s pushing it away? I don’t know. I’m almost as afraid to do what I love as I am of not getting to do it.

Should I learn more or should I unlearn that which has been taught but misleading nonetheless?

Some things have shown themselves to me and I am grateful that they have. I have seen true beauty. I have tried to be as beautiful as I possibly can, too hard maybe. Today I wore no make up and didn’t do my hair. It was a bit liberating and I want to do it more often. I want to be a soul. I want to be beautiful and I want to have it all, especially love. I don’t know how I’ll get there, but I’ll never give up. I cannot let old patters dictate what I can and cannot touch. I will hold in my hands all the invisible gold dust. I just have to know that I can and will touch, feel and do everything and more. And someday, somehow, somebody will feel happier and less lonely because I was here. Maybe they won’t be able to touch me but I will touch them with my words, with a melody or an image that’ll comfort them just enough to carry on.

I desire terribly to be one of the fortunate I desperately admire. To walk in the shoes of the singers, the writers, the creators, the image capturers, the artists that have found a way to communicate beauty through expression. I’m sitting here by myself and wondering how to get it done. I try to grab the pen and it spills ink all over the page. All I can do is start over and keep trying until it works again. Keep singing until the voice is strong enough to be heard. Try impossibly until I get to touch and breathe this newfound dream that eludes and haunts my dark and bright moments.

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