the vices of maya.

I don’t remember ever knowing who I really was. I am but a mix of people’s opinions and pedigrees of axioms coming out of their mouths.

For what I personally know, though, is that I am angry. Angry everyday of the week, angry at the never changing vices of the world, angry at it’s diabolical people, angry at my state of being and who I am.

SZA once said that she was “Vacationing in rock bottom” and, to be quite frank, I heavily resonated with it. I am constantly in a losing battle of being around people, and to find peace and happiness in solitude while the world moves is one thing, but to be hated on it for the fact that i do that is another. To be told that they “don’t like it”, leaves me on the edge. Am I truly meant to do what you want, or am I going to pursue happiness in the thing you may not accept. I am happier alone, even when i’m not, and have found being private my biggest virtue and vice at the same time. I am just gifted in the act of disappearance.

I am never on earth. Is it so bad to be hyper aware of your surroundings? constantly realising things that make me change my perceptions on the life i live leave me unable to understand how exactly life works. Let me give you an example. Everynight, as i lay in the ether of my room’s bed, i am wide awake, pondering about how I am on a rock, floating in space. I shudder at the thought and often times grow anxious of what the future may hold.

I plan too much. Every word i say out of my mouth is never coming out at the mouth, i have probably conjured the messy syllables just for me to say it to you the minute i bring myself to speak. if i do, that is. I am awfully optimistic for all the things i plan to happen. I plan my hair, my purchases, my words, my next moves all cautiously as if I have nothing truly better to do.

I am filled with sentimental dread that leaves me clutched with overwhelming sadness for days on end. I do not see a light at the end of the road and I will most definitely never be truthful for who i am. I mean, how could i, when i don’t even know who i am in the first place? I am gripped in the arms of fabrication and protection from anyone knowing me.

I am but a vessel that holds words, but will never let them out, quite like an urn of the sorts. I hold memories of those who have passed by me, but never let them out as i keep them to my self. Sometimes i truly wish i could be like Kate from Eternal Sunshine Of the Spotless Mind, and erase all those i’ve interacted with from my mind only for the sake of starting over.

I think that’s the only thing i’m so optimistic about, starting over and leaving the berating sun from laughing at my attempts of speaking, at starting something. Everyone is a candle in the sun, yet i see everyone else as a Betelgeuse, even if we are all the same, yet sometimes, i thank my dissociating for bringing me back to life, and to the prospect of understanding that every single person that passes me, is simply the same as me.

But my vices outweigh my virtues, and they can never bring themselves to reduce for all i truly know about myself, is that they will multiply tenfold, the more i do anything in this world.