The Kalopsian Wave

Where do we go on the astral plane we invent? Some type of mind cave. Those who talk about ripping open their ribcage just trying to be the simplest version of themselves. When you fuck with the hole inside of you you only make it deeper, but it’s better to keep those hands busy digging away than it is to sit in the mud. Maybe we’ll find something here maybe there are things someone left buried like my great grandmothers wedding dress or my own although I’m sure I donated it long ago. Should we forget our pasts or try to understand them? When I try to make sense of it all it feels like trying to finish. I think the answer might hit me like a wave when I’m 60 looking at rocks on the beach with my husband or sister or wife telling me about their jellyfish they found washed up near their cup. We overtalk it over state over define I think I think I think about myself far too much I think about this man I knew with no depth just like that jellyfish, body turning to jelly if pushed too deep. Did he have it figured out? having no spine? Maybe I am just trying to be happy or am I happy because I want everyone to think I think. I want to be butt fucking ugly I want my voice to sound like wire I want to be kept in the attic like the product of inbreeding somewhere I can light fireworks and skip my rocks and smoke hard drugs I can’t even name because it doesn’t matter because I wasn’t supposed to exist. My parents are Christian and say you are going to hell if you don’t love Jesus but I don’t get how you can start this life without all the tools you need to finish it. It so so so hard to be a person and I think it’ll only get worse because all I do is try to get better. What is the fucking point of all this waiting around? What is the point of logging everything? Saying anything? Is it really all just to hope that somewhere out there you made someone feel? How do I fill my hole when I already started out neck deep in it? I want some problems, I don’t want mine fixed so I can boo hoo when it’s 11:30 in the arms of my dark haired man who has a world so deep and rich and interesting that because of how we all are I can never care about more than my wedding dress that I just threw away. In my attic I hid an old self portrait that I figured out has no fucking point. Lugged it around for 4 different moves back is covered in mold and I’ve been coughing yellow for a month now. Are you listening? Do you care about what I have to say? Is there anything you can show me? Something I haven’t considered? My parents still have a Christmas card up, one with his bad haircut and fucking green sweater. Should have tossed it and pitched a fit but I just turned it over and they just turned it right back. Why do they want to remember. I need to smash up everything I’ve made and throw my stickers on whatever I see in front of me the second I get them. Bread crumbs to some gingerbread cottage at the bottom of some muddy hole. I think the point is to understand others and say what comes to mind when I go to my astral plane. I always dreamed of dying in a cave and rotting in the woods like a forgotten Persephone. I’m always beat down by reality and I think I hate beauty because I love it. If I was some wild wolf child would I still watch the sunset? If I ate poison berries and shit blood would I know it smelled bad? Tell me where to put things on my wall because I don’t care. How could one live without a sister when she cries I hear her voice break from miles away. What am I going to find? What’s the point whats the point what’s the point? Where do I need to go who do I need to buy a drink? Will some answer be in the trenches of war or the back of my throat? I think I am overthinking it. I think the point is to not define anything about the world, about me, about the point of it all. I’m here right now because I’m here and sometime I’m going to move from right here because I decided it’s time to move. I can make any choice and it will be the right one because I’m always right when I make choices for myself. Love me in the right now- the present and I will love me every second from now on. I should send a gift basket or a thank you card and ask me for my birthday list. I should see if I want to talk or tackle some problem but I don’t really care about using my credit card. I have no great destiny or pressure on me. I can see myself as some troll under the bridge and do that as long as I want because I’d just be a statistic if I was bombed right now even if I am beautiful I can get cancer if I smoke or not but I want my blood pressure down and my cough gone so I think I will. I don’t roll a ball up a hill but I do dig till there aint no more dirt because I shot it all into outer space some new renewal- Renee planet just a little out of orbit right where this old planet was. Throw me there in the stars with my shovel and I’ll start digging again.