Obsession. It’s an ugly word. It consumes all. A spark that can’t be seen. A feeling that can never be grasped. I’m lost inside my head, obsessed by imagery that no one else can see. They can’t taste it, nor can they comprehend what it means. Years ago I glimpsed the future. In a field of golden corn, I saw the wasp I would one day become. The girl beneath me, I stung her then watched as everything unfolded. The world has turned many times since then, yet the dream lives on. Others are sceptical. They don’t believe in it, but that’s okay because I don’t believe in them. Mocked for my wishes, I’m ridiculed for not wanting to become like others. Speak the truth they say, yet as soon as you do, you’re hated for your honesty. Be wild yet sanitized. Be original, yet be like everyone else. Obsession is nothing to be afraid of. It’ll lose you more than you could ever imagine, yet the freedom it brings is greater than they’ll ever know. The mind. The frontiers of creation. Sacrifice. Sacrifice hurts, but there’s no way around it. Don’t be afraid to step outside the lines. Don’t be afraid that it will take time. You’ll suffer lows so pitiful, and yet you’ll carry on. Blind belief. Determination. Hunger for imagery others find distasteful. Isolated from a game of pricks, there’s nothing more than the bliss of escapism. To taste the glory of thoughts behind closed eyes. To experience the wonders the likes of which no one has ever come close to. Be mad. Utter crazed truths. You don’t have to leave; you just can’t stay. Integrity when no one else is looking. Failure won’t deny me what is mine. The future not frightening, just another thing that needs breaking apart. This is how things should be. No more delaying. No more putting off what matters most. Learn to become someone without fear. Destroy your dark half. Banish your shadow so that it may never cause you to slip into another great depression. Scream and run into the sun. Love and hate. Passion in abnormality. Solitude like mothers milk. So many things. So many places. Yesterday and tomorrow nagging at me to do something more. And now I am. I write because I can. I write because that’s what I was born to do.
Categories: On Writing