Looking Outside

Sometimes I stand just inside my front door. It takes a lot to step outside. Funny that I keep thinking about removing myself from the house though.

 

Nowadays I can leave the door open. The wind sweeps around my knees softly. It is warm. I can practically hear summer tumbling its way toward Baltimore. I hope it hits us late this year. I miss spring.

I spend a fair amount of time contemplating whether or not I truly want to walk down the stairs, into the street.

I wasn’t fortunate enough to have never of met you. When I enter the public’s world I proceed with the understanding that you exist with my secrets written on your mind. My own script standing inarguable and compromised. I never should have taken up a smooth, mechanical quill and scrawled passages of my thoughts and my feelings; my essence lives on your skin, as much as you haunt my thoughts.

When I finally garner the pluck to step out and close the door behind me, I click the lock down and attempt to not fall on my face. These stairs have been bathed in liquid concrete so many times. Sooner or later, it might harden into a solid surface --- or so my landlord seems to think.

I have grown so tired of identity. It’s become a parade for others.

My teacher is asking for this research paper. Being in art school, it hasn’t been necessary to actually endeavour into such a feat as a research paper. I remember by the end of high school I was a master, if not still too verbose I eventually got to the point.

I love to write because it scares me. I loved to paint because it challenged me. I am beginning to realize that what challenges me is not nearly as much a motivator as what truly terrifies me. I’m starting to understand the Republican motivation to utilize fear mongering. However, as much as it might mobilize action, organization and planning tend to fall by the wayside.

I imagine that my emotions’ habitat share a likeness to a Trump rally lately. Volatile and malleable; dynamite has been erecting screams and hands have been groping towards one emotion or another instead of focusing wholeheartedly on an overhead issue at hand.

I haven’t been this lonesome in a while; although I have been contemplating the idea that maybe I was still incredibly lonely while me and her were attached at the hip. I feel like that makes a lot of sense actually because if there is one thing I have always been fantastic at, it is providing distractions for myself from myself.