Some people, they fuck up your equilibrium.
“Hi, how are you?”
“Fine, how are you?”
What are you?
I need to see. I need to know. I drive drive drive someone like me. Isn’t that human nature? To build your community. Some people, they see the shapes of the puzzle like you do, but they put it together differently. Sometimes, I get caught up in that. Don’t we put it together the same? I look over, your picture is not like mine. Your picture is like the rest. I get overwhelmed. I find myself doing unto others as they have done unto me: can’t you? won’t you? be be be. pouring and waiting and pushing. Gritting my teeth until I wring out the last drop. Aren’t you? The final moment. Hold hold hold. I have to stand in the cold rain, soak in the hot shower, lose myself in the rhythm of the soap and the razor. Find the rhythm of myself again. Fill out myself again. Come back.
Categorization is hard to defy. The natural want for it, of it. Our brains are hardwired to group like things together, to find like spaces for things. I forget. I have always walked these lines. I have always been either/or, both/neither. I have always been nothing. I have always used my chameleon skin to be everything. I can act, I can feel, I can hide in plain sight. I chase these stories; others chase one identity, one category, one shape. One grand finale. It is not now and then. Or here and there. It is so tempting to join in, to push the pieces of the puzzle together with them, to size them up and test their fit, to work towards the same final image. I want to. I want to join in, and I do join in, I have joined in. The big bad wolf is here. Let me in. Let me in. I am not a monster, I am only a child in a wolf suit.
When I’m not with you, who am I? That’s what I walk through the door with. That’s the reality. You make me want to join in, but I’m not a joiner. I’ve always been without. I’ve always resisted the group status. I act like it’s denied to me, but I defy it. I think that is okay, that is what I want. It might not be “real”; it might not be solid, stable, one. I am both sides of the coin. I don’t stand on one end, I flip over.
I am not one, but all. The raindrop or the river, the pebble or the sand, the grass or the field. The leg or the body: the razor catches and it bleeds. It flows. That’s all that’s stopping me from not existing? That’s all the resistance I can offer? The skin is not precious. These lines don’t mean anything, but it is what I have. It is what I have chosen.
I can empathize with your want, your chase, your dream. But it is not my dream, and that is what I dream of.