Realism. An unrealistic concept.
What makes the majority comfortable
Oppresses my untamed thoughts.
Supress. Supress.
As they talk about a carefully curated impurity.
Will there be a freedom in telling my truth?
To let the wind blow on it. Let the rain pour in it.
No band aid needed. . . just openly exposed.
My thoughts have lungs. They need air and oxygen.
Not the suffocating pressure of the avoidance of truth.
Where rocks stack and hide and darken it over time.
The looming mountain that pretense builds.
That’s the heavy.
Instead, let
gravity
touch
my
body
but leave my soul.
Let it be the force that keeps my feet on the ground
Not the weight that stops my mind
from e x p a n d i n g past the static that people cling to.
There would be less falling -
If we realized our thoughts do not adhere
to the same laws of physics.