ONCE UPON A SLUMP.

 I have returned back to the shell, it’s slimy brown-cardboard setting and my discovery theme. You run away from things such as feelings to cut them off your life and hoping you are not dragging someone else’s bag. Three days ago, the reality of my decision slapped me in the face you’d expect it to have calluses on its hand but instead it’s in mine. How will I react to this? don’t tell me about the stares I can avoid them.  Best case I wrap myself in my dark room letting out every bit of crystal bulb emotions, of course don’t forget to keep it down when you sob it will only tell them you believe you are in the wrong which is not possible because all you’ve done is stay right- by their side as they soldiered your instincts crossing roads for you, which shirt to wear to church, what degree you should choose, who you hang out with. Parental love can be filled with innocence; they just want to see you thrive- go places they couldn’t go, be their 2.0 in this competitive world until slowly it transforms into control. You may not realize this on time till you begin to understand your inner skin, now your intuition is not smart (yet) but he wants to be in the driving seat- his intrigue overriding fear of failing.

My decision would destroy me into the right pieces that fit my dreams I’m not ashamed of them you can’t obviously tell if I’m grieving: Looking at my former program’s schedule (opened by mistake), gaping at my I.D card in the night just to see how much I’ve grown. My clothes don’t remind me of anything these days except I have more button-downs than cool shirts. Until you taste the saltiness of your saliva you never know your heart flowers you so you stay alright.

I’m in the driving seat now and I don’t feel like I’m driving. More of staring into the windshield and hoping life cop doesn’t ask questions. I feel if I move everyone will know I’m starting again so for now watching all these cars pick up flags in this race is all I can do. Placing what you want over what people want from you shouldn’t make me feel guilty. IT’S MY CAR I’M THE ONE WHO HAS TO PAY FOR INSURANCE.  I will have to move at some point though or else I would forget how to drive, how to parallel park, how to feel like me. This Is for me. Whatever happens I would grieve, scratch my nails on the door, let my bag fall with a giant thud, taste my tears and let it soak my button down till the button feels so slippery to remove. Then I will flop myself in bed, escape into unending darkness and wake up again, dust my tears, make coffee, write and feel like I’m driving again.