Here is the third installment of the lost drafts a.k.a thoughts and poetry pieces left unfinished. I couldn’t seem to complete these pieces but I’ve decided to share them anyway. I hope you enjoy:
In the moment that I am introduced to my demise who will remember me after my disappearance? Did I do enough to be remembered and mourned by those who were close to me? Or maybe I was not as important as I initially thought and my gravesite will be flowerless? Someone once told me that because you’re only able to see the world through your own eyes you perceive yourself as more important than you actually are. Now I completely understand what was told to me at that time. While I was concerned about everyone’s eyes locking on all of my actions, I lost control of my own actions. My concern about the external led to the death of my internal. I became a shell of myself, while ironically locked inside of the shell of society’s expectations. “Wear this” she implied. “Say this” she insisted. I followed her commands until I found myself in a place where all the faces were unfamiliar, including my own. The only feeling worse than death is recognizing the image in the mirror while not being able to accept the interior that projects the physical image.
I was once told that one day I would have to eventually pay for my sins, and as I took my last breathe I expected noting less than torture on the other side. I was told to repent or else I would have to pay the ultimate price. I struggled for oxygen as my family surrounded me and witnessed my demise. After several moments, my body body became stiff and frozen. There I laid….the personification of death. My spirit was finally released. I expected to meet Satan, but I was surprised when I saw an unexpected face at the gates of what I perceived as hell. A hand was extended to me, and the voice said its name was the creator. I became consumed by confusion. I asked “the creator as in the almighty creator?”
I was once told to never believe what they told me, and now I am beginning to understand why I was told to do so. I’ve noticed the narrative and the deception because I’ve began to look at things from a more clear perspective. I no longer digest the poison that was misplaced on my plate. I was once followed the notion that angels wore light wings and followed those who were holy enough to receive a ticket to heaven. I once concluded that the angel of death wore dark wings and haunted those who had a spot reserved below the heavens. This morning I woke up with a purpose. I woke up with a mindset strong enough to shake the social norms that consumed us all since we were born. I am no longer torn between what they want me to believe and what I believe in my heart and mind.
She seems to escape me most of the time because we haven’t had the smoothest of friendships. As I was growing up I was always afraid to approach her because I was content with never having her rather than losing her along the way. I realized that it was more healthy to never have than to have and to lose. She would appear for small moments in time, but she always left without warning, which brought me to think she wasn’t meant for me. I figured she had other places to be and other people to please. After a while I just stopped looking for her because I felt if we were meant for each other then it wouldn’t be this difficult. In the spirit of spitefulness I shunned her presence, and decided that she held no importance. But at times, I can’t help but call her name and wonder where she is. “Where are you happiness??”