Ray Proper, 29

Know Thyself… And then what?
Should I focus only on the Light as if the dark has no relevance? Should I shield the world from my jagged edges and position my life out of harms way of them? Should I spend my days guarding the door to my anxieties, deflecting every postman that comes knocking? Knock. Knock.

Return to Sender…
I often wonder how many messages I’ve missed. But because my lights are still on and my car isn’t repossessed, I’m convinced those letters must not be that damn important,  I mean my life hasn’t changed a bit. Then again… my life hasn’t changed. A bit.

The Never Changing Story.
This one has no lucky flying dog. Instead mine is a tale of repetition. Characters change, yet the outcome remains; Me, inside my bubble. And them, outside trying to pop it… identify it… become one with it… continuously bumping, stumbling and crashing into its stinging electricity. Subliminal force field, penetrable only by conscious mind. 3rd eyes peeking through my disguise.

Can You See Me?
Can you recognize my flaws? Can you read between my layers? Handle me in my raw? I drive my own self crazy. I cringe at the thought of what I may do to you. And when it all falls down, I seem to have no remorse because I just knew it would happen. Suspected it would happen. Reserved a piece of me just for when it would happen. Prepared myself in secrecy, secretly giving only fractions of me while you remain whole. While you remain bold in the face of possibilities. Content with not knowing, still eager to keep going. I stand in awe at how you don’t seem to fright. So to prove that I’m right, I dub you as naive… how else could you believe this will end well? Tick. Tock.

Time Will Tell.
The tick tock feels like torture. Waiting for the inevitable end, so tempted to release the storm inside to help it begin. What am I doing here, with you? Killing time while time kills me. The more beautiful these bonds get, the more burdened I become. Baggage disguised as luggage, I tell them I’m moving on. And they believe me. As if it could ever be true. Cuz when I’m asked what love is to me, all I can think of is you, you… and You.

The You Know Who.
We’ve all got that one. The one we blame it all on. The one that shattered our dream of happily ever after turned reality. The one shit got real with. I mean before you, I had no insecurities. Before you, I had no doubt. Trust issues were things I’d only heard about. Before you, love would always conquer all, because true love is most powerful, because all you need is love, because love is the solution. Before you, sunshine, flowers, butterflies and rainbows… unicorns, puppies, fairies and Santa Claus.

But Santa Isn’t Real.
And I’m still pissed about it. That fairytale love dream, popped like balloons and needles. Like corn in microwaves. Like Boogaloo Shrimp and Fik Shun. Reality welcomed me with open wounds, time blessed me with slow healing scars, and I found myself to be the only remnant of the aftermath. A cold heart in a warm body. Walking amongst the living. No wonder I flee so quickly when they try to get close. Miss me with that love stuff, no matter how deeply I long for it. Out of fear of having my light snatched away, I choose to live in the dark. In retrospect, I guess that’s why they never see me..

So know thyself huh. Ok, done. Isn’t knowledge supposed to be power? What do I do now.

…To be continued.