The Modern Fable

 How do you call upon courage to lead your own life? It doesn’t come in anticipation, it doesn’t rear its head in planning. It emerges from the fog, in the hour of need, when your life is on the line, and the time has come to decide. It gives a temporary glimpse, a magnificent flash, until it retreats back inside under shells of compromises and broken promises to come back once again when you cannot do without it.

 How do you weigh potential? And when do you sacrifice it when you pick one of two ways and let go of all the scenarios, you had thought for yourself. Society expects me to know myself, when it has always dictated my needs. When should I listen to my core self, and when should I strive for something above me. It is not a matter of will, but a matter of means. I could push myself to achieve, and numb myself to lead, or, I could convince myself to settle, but then how do I make peace when people look down on me? It is not a matter of will, but a matter of means, and I can feel my will unravelling, with the fights I gave against my enemies, my enemies that hog my mind and my surroundings Well then, how do you decide what is good for you when the choices were flawed from the beginning? Who do you decide to be when you can’t recognize your own reflection from the shadow? It is a curse to be unconventional, to be different from the herd. You pay the price of ...

The molten silver in my eyes, became the coating of your mirror. Who was I then, if not just an onlooker?

When happiness touches me, I have to find reasons to explain why I don’t want you as part of the party? You say I am obligated, and I am, by the guilt you’ll shower, if I speak my mind.

They say imperfections make you beautiful, and I had just started to believe that. I bared the gaps I felt inside me, the seeping cracks, voids that at times engulfed me. I saw the gleam in your eyes and it was from the beauty that surrounded me. But all you saw was a girl empty inside, malleable, broken to your eyes, which you could mold to your desires. I retreated my words for a while, imperfections made me weak, a sight to pity at. Until I realized, imperfections made me who I am, as long as I did not bare them to, a man with a motive in mind.

When life gets hard, you have to kill a part of yourself, so you can let the rest survive. I have killed the part, that searches for its other half, while I struggle to keep myself whole, as life knocks me down. The fire is only dormant, until someone reignites it with their touch. I only know one thing for sure, whether or not, I find a partner in whom I share is up to fate, or rather ill-luck, the intensity of desire, the price of withholding my senses, for so long, when is stoked, will swallow me whole.

I loan people pieces of me, with nothing up for collateral. A piece of my mind, a glimpse of my body, a fraction of my voice but no one knows the fire inside me. Because it will destroy others, while it only carves the soul inside me.

Dust off, get up for defeat is not a choice. As long as I am alive, I will strive for my voice.

The sun shines even when clouds block the way. It doesn’t wilt in despair, that nobody lets it have its way. It keeps on shining and shining until the wispy clouds are swept away. And tomorrow, the cycle begins again.

I am not incomplete, merely broken. I don’t seek someone to fill my longings, but to see them and accept them so much so that in the daylight, the scars fade. I don’t seek someone to heal me, but to grow with me. Because I can rise up, fly up. Merely surviving for now, so that I can thrive later.