Breath. We breathe in and out. Bodies of ours too many times have been compared to our breaths. Our first breath, our last. But are we doomed, as in conclusion, to be paralleled in comparison to plants? Oh sure it sounds juvenile to say we are similar to flowers or trees however if we are doomed in a life defined by oxygen intake we may as well root ourselves and do ourselves a favor. We may not be defined as flowers though many poets have deemed many a fair lady as a rose, however the truth is we are not roses, to say so is an insult to the species. Flowers do not intake oxygen as we, nor measure their lives by those few moments defined in it, but rather create beauty from beauty. That’s the distinction you see, a rose can take the iridescent rays of autumn sunlight and carry it through out its time on this earth as a partner in its life, in many forms and shapes it can change the light. While as people though we tend to boast ourselves as creators, we are nothing of a rose, or a dandelion, or even a weed. As people we do not create beauty from beauty but rather destroy it in a time period known as life. At first breath, we are immaculate. We are creatures of curiosity whose beauty cannot be described in spoken words because we come from a greater being so indescribable that to even attempt to use a word such as beauty as a description is an insult to our creation. We come into the world defying all odds already, only to be doomed to a period of self-destruction and ruin until we define our last moment with our last ounces of oxygen. We are the ugliest of the beauty of the world yet we are the most defined. Oh how I wish I was a rose. We as the people of this world, in contrast, can be portrayed as magicians rather than flowers. The great Houdini’s of our own shows. I’m here to lift the curtain. They know. That’s our great magic trick. They know. We know. We all know. Everything. But we chose to hide it in certain situations. The younger forms of ourselves have not yet mastered the skill of our everyday cons. That is why they say “children always tell you the truth”. Ask a child if your husband loves you, the truth will prevail from their lips. While as someone else would answer in an effort to achieve only what they feel would gain the most out of the situation, therefore they will lie. But here lies a disgusting straightjacket on the backs of both, the one who asked if her husband loves her and the one who lied. They both knew. The wife new the true answer, and the intensions of whom she asked the question. The answerer also knows the true answer and has the knowledge to understand that the wife knows as well. Yet the lie told is accepted by both who deny the truth. Why? Oh I wish to be a dandelion. We are the true rabbit’s in the hats, masters of deception. This truth is true in all questions ever asked and answers ever told. In every paradox, every moment, all not some great big mystery but rather decisions of those too selfish to admit their own truths and the decisions of those too scared to call upon the liars. My wonderment is why, if this is true do we waste our breath? We know, we know that we know, so why has no one ever said it? I lived in a mad house of people who knew and just walked amongst their own hypocrisy and shame as if they were ignorant. A mother who speaks terribly of her child but commits the same acts, and understands that they are the same, but somehow manages to validate them when called to question. A grandmother who acts as if she has no knowledge of the ridicule her family places upon her, and places the ridicule on a family who acts as if they have no knowledge of it. One horrifying rollercoaster of magic tricks in place that made no sense to the child who opened her mouth. Oh I wish I were a weed. She too wasted her breath for though she said the things she knew to be on the minds of everyone, they all denied her. Leaving her to question her sanity and the morals of the world around her. Yes she too carried around a magic box of tricks, but hers was of a different character than the masks and cloaks of indivisibility that her brothers and sisters of mankind subjected themselves to carry. She carried the box of the woman who allowed herself to be sawed in half at request. You see for she grew older and understood the truth but unlike her generation and the generations before her she did not grow in to the acceptance of the great masks. She did gain to accept the fact that she did not wish to hide that she knew the truths nor did she grow to like that everyone around her did wish to hide the truths for no reason. So she still spoke out even as she grew older. Every time she spoke what was on everyone’s mind, but was not on anyone’s but her own lips, did someone viciously saw her in half and act as if it were a well-deserved punishment. But even more gruesome the fact that when she grew tired of being sawed, she too told the lies everyone else told, sometimes in an effort to reattach herself other times to heal the broken bond between her and her family .The saw blade then like a torch, however, passed into her own hands and every time she gathered in the ways of those around her and submitted to the ideas that they told her were right, she sawed a little piece of herself off, never to be reattached.
There, over there, that grotesque creature with stars in its eyes and holes in its heart, pools of its own blood surrounding it. That is the remains of the girl who wished so greatly…. to be a rose, a dandelion, or even a weed. Breathe.