Month: July 2017

overachiever fever

I am sinking my guts as fervently as I feel the pen sliding across my throat, twisting my organs, slithering across a paper of items I do not understand. My mind flashes back to every single failure that we have ever sung. Every lapse of ungreatness and unfulfilled fervor is a crime to humanity. An unabiding dishonor of traipse for the ones who carry my name to lament. This is a foul cry for the ones who do not deserve to do so — whittled down to self-depreciation at the instant. Wherever it started, whatever had happened — they’ve all clung to this despondent nothingness. A melancholia for the person that I had never been, not once a sign of forgiveness for the person that I could be. We are destined, intertwined, by faith and numbers and chance and cash and time and lovers and passion and spirit and uncountable things that remain out of our control; as we are destined by faith to crash and die. My fondest memories from my childhood were not of my victories; never the dances for participation medals on stage or the old photobook memories that I never knew were captured for visiting passersby to giggle at and condemn their own children for. I vividly recall my mind turmoiling, twisting, turning, attempting to unravel the way numbers and foreign symbols were put together. Sort of the same kind that happens when I try to speak – English, my fond darling, a lost trickster descending on the tips of my tongue and stealing away the full voracity of what once was. It boils down to sitting down, the breeze of an air conditioner in a once familial home and listening to an estranged cousin laughing at numbers and formulas and things that I do not understand. Running it again in an old machine and collapsing over combinations of letters and formulas and unknown meanings — I’ve torn down cities but the inability to grasp because I do not know is what crumbles everything that I had ever built up. Devout non-believer in my ability to succeed; I swear to god that all my problems are the riddled inconsequential. It is like every manifestation of my fear is churned down, it is like I am a master of deceit to the outside when I have trouble explaining my own head to myself. It is like IMore?