The First of February and Myself

Life demands answers from you, it demands results. The confused are often ridiculed. Where are you? How do you feel? How far will I go? What do I do now? Every day is a question of if you’re fit enough, educated enough, or pretty enough to survive. A mind is a powerful tool. What you feed will grow, the loudest voice always to conquer the tinkering messenger within, the one we fail to replenish and often neglect.

If you’re confused you’re sinful or a bitch. You are made out to be far less philosophical and theorized to have almost no grasp on the concepts of life, love, and the pursuit of safety. But no one has true explanations about anything that unfolds in front of our eyes or what appears in the eyes of God. We are all pretending to exude knowledge. Yet we remain plugged into the same toxic jargon set in place to make us feel like we aren’t good enough or like we will never measure up. Every day it’s revealed to you, your capacity of attainment.

What if questioning goes against true nature? Suppose life was just meant to be lived, a statement, not a question. I too often feel tricked by the expectations of society. Encouraged to advance and move up but doubtfully met with no place to land. Suppose up is the wrong way.

Stability seemed like such a simple request. Yet every prayer that comes from my lips is in a posture of fear. The circumstances of my life are tiny reflections of how I’ve ordered it to reflect my light or shut it out completely. My need for control and discovering answers has overwhelmingly left me benighted; ignorance is always impending when we live like the gods of our own being. Now I’ve cost myself love, mental strength, confidence, and forbearance.

However, today, I am painfully aware that in order to achieve warranted strength, death to my coveted ways of feeling, thinking, and evolving must come forth. And although I am terrified of the experience of losing control, I’m convinced it never found definitive life in me, that it’s not the posture of my heart anyway. Still, I am drowning day to day in woes like, “will he love me again, will I ever reach my dreams, or will he die before its right?” But the truth is written on my heart. Without earthly direction, it is known by my soul that the process of ushering in a new era is through killing off self-doubt (“stability”) and who I used to be. That if freedom is the goal and love to ever be felt, the work is necessary.

Miss Parisia B.

Photo by Rodion Kutsaev on Unsplash

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