Asleep but Awake

Every morning, my mom routinely refuses to leave the house without coming up to my room and giving me a kiss on the forehead. 

While it is the sweetest and most constant thing that happens every day now, it is also the most sad. I know where the action stems from; she is afraid. She is afraid to not see me again before tomorrow’s forehead kiss.

She’s afraid of unfortunate events, she’s afraid of the things she can’t control, the things she can’t plan for, the things she wakes up in sweats about at dusk. 

I thought that my mom would stop fearing death after I beat it, but that’s the thing about death, it doesn’t sit there awaiting it’s occurrence, it haunts the weak in the name of uncertainty. 

I feel bad often, not caring or worrying about dying anymore. I can be reckless, unafraid, and even search for a reminder of what it felt like to be in danger. To remember the adrenaline that rushes through veins and capillaries when your heart hurts in desperation. 

Fight or flight. Always fighting, sometimes fleeing. 

But it’s all wrapped up in a forehead kiss. 

Funny how even a kiss is a force of resistance. 

Te amo Ma ❤

To understand 

I have been sulking in my depression and its powerful ability to cloud over my life and let itself be inserted into whatever point my life has currently reached. 

The pain builds connections with my loneliness, my hopelessness, and my abandonment issues. How can a force be so powerfully permeable? How does it swerve annotations of responses and superficial antidotes that others point out?

“It is what you make it be”, a truly constructivist way to analyze my thoughts. But a harsh way. 

control the uncontrollable, force an escape from this wholesome cloud of sadness, deal with the issues

I’d just like for the feelings to be free.

 To roam free in the world like they roam in my thoughts. Setting them free from my head and my heart is such a painful process too, baring cells to be unmasked and unsurveilled (by me).

I just want you to know the urge to understand haunts me too. But I don’t even understand it myself. 

I think I just need time and space. 

Sail

Sailing my mind is the word colonized. In every sense of the word, I know I am colonized. Colonized to think and act like a powerless peasant, an objectified symbol for sexuality and incandescence, a radiating somatic shape, an unexplained apologetic slave. I’ve questioned the origins of my detail and every passing day I come to more conclusions about such word and its application. “You are woman, and I am  mAn” say the blind. But the sailing word itself explains it all. Bred to believe in purpose and hope, we are so naive to the forces of the world. Colonization occurs as we stop ourselves from coming to terms with our identity and when the fear of being who we are wins the battle between thoughts of survival over victory. Embracing our root has been sold as poisonous. Why are we ashamed?

“Freedom”. What is freedom? Is it sailing through life as a servant of its forces? Is it wearing colors that represent a nationalized power and its unbalanced prevalence over all others? Is freedom the condition of choosing the circumstances of one’s survival over the notable choice that half of the world does not get to own when loosing their life? Is freedom the right to allow ourselves to believe that we somehow can control who we are and who we will become in this world? Will freedom keep standing unquestioned and undefeated even as we are all a product of colonization?’

The thoughts and questions sail and prevail as my mind digests its own colonization. As history was told to us in the name of the world, are we complacent to remain blind as the colonizers sail into their planned acquisition? We must remember that as they sailed into their victory, freedom sailed away from it.

“Sail away, sail away.”

-Freedom

via Daily Prompt: Sail

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