Rubbish Contemplation

 

Contemplating life and the events that happened to your version of humanity, as if there’s no end to this road called time, like there’s no cars passing on your road, nobody can hit you and run, leave you laying on the hot street under the searing sun of troubles. No. Nobody can do that, because it’s you, alone, walking on this hot earth, drinking hot sea water, wearing nothing but shame, dirts, and guilty feelings. On and on you walk on your burning bare feet on the stones beside the roadway where nobody passes and where there’s no traffic but inside your mind, you thought your world was so big, but it’s only the same circle you’re walking again and again without noticing. Everyone’s stuck doing the same movements, making the same mistakes, talking the same language of cuss. Nobody can really get out, because if someone gets out, they’d feel left out. Just like that. Exactly like that. Until they’re tired enough and they’ll sit, and then lay, and then die by nature eating them alive. Then the next generation will fill in, doing the same walk on the same world, just a different atmosphere, different views, different feels. Everybody thinks they’re on the best world, on the best moment compared to anyone else because they never know what the future holds. But everybody will end up saying the same things again each time a good thing comes and curse just as hard or even harder when a single bad thing happens to them. Then everything seems to be dark and uneventful, even if that world was the best world for them just a few moments ago. Somehow the sun turned into a big blackness covering their heads and eyes that makes them unable to look at any brightness at all anymore. Just them, with their eyes open but their minds somewhere else and their mouths open, but no words spoken, just nonexistence among their own existence. Those foul mouths and those dirty eyes out of order.

Contemplating life and the events that happened to your version of humanity, as if anyone ever chose to be here, reading this, writing this, thinking about this. Who chose me to come here? Why me? What’s my purpose? What’s my prize? Who can see me? Who can witness my success? Who are you? Who are they? What am I? Where am I? Why me? Why me? What’s happening to me? What’s bothering me? What’s annoying me? Who am I inside? What do I look like outside? Am I loved? Am I okay? Am I not? Not okay? No? No. In fact, nobody really is okay. If they say they are, they’re either lying, or wrong, or trying to hide their own pain while telling the biggest common lie somebody can tell. Nobody is so good that they always feel good in life and nobody is so bad that they always feel bad in life, nobody is so good that they always feel bad in life and nobody is so bad that they always feel good in life, and it’s just a common knowledge. Nobody deserves to be left alone but everyone deserves to leave, it’s everyone’s right and it’s everyone’s choice. Except for falling in love, as it is not a choice even though everyone deserves to be and feel loved. Life is so much more complicated when feelings come into play, like as kids we used to only play, get hungry, thirsty, sleepy, silly, and repeat. We were being prepared for real life where every of those four basic feelings get complicated. We get things served to us and now we have to get things for us ourselves and life only gets even harder as we’ve become stronger. You have to work to not feel hungry and thirsty and to buy a house so you don’t have to feel sleepy on the sidewalk of a city and start to use substances to make yourself feel silly. Money, money, money. Some people beg, some people give, some walks away like they’ve none to give, but a damn. Life was so much simpler when feelings never happened. But it’s wishful thinking. 

Contemplating life and the events that happened to your version of humanity and everyone is just out here trying to light a little fire to burn their cigarettes until their fire is big enough to burn them alive in their haze to forget for a second what a hard life it really is for them. Everyone is striving for acceptance for who they are and for what they are and some strive in silence because it gets harder to get loud sometimes and some have literally lost their voice to even speak. So they go away, they look for another world, looking for the acceptance they’ve been looking for their whole life. Their fire gets, for once, slowly bigger and brighter and warmer, their world seems to be less dark, less scary, they can, for once, live again as who they are. Until somebody tries to pour water on their fire, put them off, slowly but steadily, little by little, splashes by splashes, dimming their lights, the light they’ve build from time to time, the light they’ve been striving for years, the light they’ve sought forever. How could somebody be so cruel to intentionally bring that heavy bucket of water of personal views and opinions on their fiery body and carry it with them just to put someone else’s fire off? I mean, you never know how much effort it takes for them to even get that fire going? You don’t know how much time it has taken them to glide two rocks together to even get the sparks they need to light up their fire. You don’t know how much they’ve been through shits their whole life that they desperately want their fire to light. Actually, you don’t even know them. You could be their parents and still not know what your kid has gone through, because your life isn’t their life and their life isn’t yours. They’re not wrong, they’re not stupid, they’re not mistaken for choosing this life they’ve chosen to live. They have a mind and a brain full of ideas, a heart full of feelings, and a body full of energy to basically take off to anywhere they want to go. Why stop them? Why lie to them? Why let them believe they’ve got everything they’ve ever wanted to, in the end, take it all again from them? What is wrong with me? No. What is wrong with YOU?! Why do you do this? Why do you let me believe I was loved for who I am? Why do you say such things? Why do you want me to still change who I am? What does it even have to do with you? I thought I was my own human? I am no longer a part of you. You’re no longer out here carrying me in your arms. I am carrying my own weight of my own body and I have everything I need to make things work for myself. Let me light my own fire. You can have your own fireplace at home, whatever home is to you. Because I don’t have a home anymore. Because I can’t call you my home, no, not anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sorry for even saying things. Saying that I don’t wanna see you, saying that I don’t like to be with you. But I hate it even more to see myself in blurry sight because you blind me with your Fata Morgana. You can go out there and preach about what you believe in, but do let people live. Let them be. Let them freaking live. Don’t forget that I am real. I am me and I will stand for who I am. You can try to put my fire out, but the real fire inside my heart will never ever die. So, nice try. 

Contemplating life and the events that happened to your version of humanity and just like everyone else, I throw things out that don’t mean anything to me anymore. Let it be packages of used items, old food, or you. Because it seems like I don’t mean anything to you anymore. You don’t even care about my feelings and you treat me like trash. Talking big and long isn’t gonna shut you up, it’ll only make you keep your ears shut and let your oblivion grow bigger. It doesn’t help anyone. But just like anything else I told you the past years, this is, again, only a rubbish to you. But, instead of you throwing me out of your house, I’ll throw you out of my memory, and I’ll walk out of that door of yours gladly. Nobody can stop me. Not even you. 

What a rubbish contemplation.