i tried to be someone else to escape it all. it became an obsession, and i awoke in a world divorced from self; a false reimagining of which i am the subject, shrouded in abstract conceptual intangibles. i know that i'm broken, and i play the part. why try to get better? i was born to tear myself apart. this lifelong dissonance, how could it mean nothing? i become a concept inside of myself.
all the failures of our fathers can't define us. if all that weight fell on our shoulders, who could blame us?
i felt locked in a stigma beyond my control, and in my vulnerability i am fed their words and i swallow them whole. promised a way out, and i sign a contract, a widespread mandate to suppress doubt and push it all inside: my endlessly lost heart and raging mind, just keep it all inside. but the shame and trauma, how could it mean nothing? it lives inside of me, rebuilds and restarts.
all the failures of our fathers can't define us. if all that weight fell on our shoulders, who could blame us? our anxieties and fears can't control us if all their thoughts fall on deaf ears.
i erase these memories, and i try to reconstruct myself to fit into this life. you might want to be someone else but what good would that do you if all this weight falls on your shoulders?