The Caged Heart
I want to scream. I feel as though I am walking through a staged, black and white world where everyone is content going to their 9-5, church on Sundays and book club on Wednesdays. I want to shake everyone near me and beg them to wake up. I want their hearts bleeding the same ray of colors that light up the earth, as if we are all living inside some vibrant techno concert full of glow sticks and music that incites ideas and forces change.
I refuse to live in their scripted world of deadlines and arbitrary responsibilities. If I’m responsible to someone, I want it to be because I am passionately, undeniably in love with them and have no choice but to pick up all of their pieces and mend their soul. If I meet a deadline, I want it to be God’s deadline that has been so perfectly placed in my life like some grand inexplicable coincidence.
I want to graffiti abandoned buildings with prophecies, returning life to ghost towns. I want to write something so moving that it forces someone to stand up for something and change the world. I want someone to look at me so intensely, so raw, so authentically that there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that they are looking right into my soul and see me, actually see me.
I want to scream, but I can’t, because I’m working my 9-5, going to church on Sundays and still have three chapters to read for my book club on Wednesday.