Eel

Reality

i keep diving in deeper, and deeper, and deeper.
backstrokes on the surface of something greater. living and dying,
all within the same breath. rippling across,
echoing for a reaction,
a truth i can't comprehend.

i am of my own reality. i must hold myself accountable.
my thoughts slamming my skull. all the possible scenarios.
all the possible outcomes. in all of it, i must find meaning.
not do what others like but what you like,
even if you could be good at it,
because the truth was, i could've been good at a lot of different things,
and it made the person i am today.

completing my thoughts like code. input and output, it seems.
like my fingers, interfacing with the keyboard, individually achieving their desired outcomes.
pressing into buttons as long as i've known how, but
some buttons aren't meant to be pushed.

because to know is to die,
in a world where time is not our friend,
the thoughts i create bloom where i plant them.
where i water them. into rainbow lilies,
pure, effervescent words; sparkling, shining
and unfolding unto their own,
unending beauty,
eternal sadness,
and stoic nature.

maybe i was a grass blade once.
in some distant prairie in ohio, where
all the dew from the rain tasted like
solemn tears of angels.

or maybe i was a stream,
discovering its own river,
merging into a bigger version of me,
always trying to flow in one direction,
but never quite the right way,

clouds have floated and sound has traveled
air dances around us like our wildest dreams
while our conversations carry on
and i remember feeling like this entity
a floating brain with eyes
and the rest of my body isn't mine.
no one ever said they liked the rest.

not until now.
nature is not meant to be manipulated with.
people do it so easily not fearing their consequences.
but i have not lived in their shoes.
not one day.
i can't help but think my meaning is fading every day,
while my identity grows,
my thoughts begin to die,
just as they're born,
like a snake giving birth to another
snake that it's eating it's own
fucking tail.

i am a psychoactive altered consciousness,
inhabiting the frail skeleton of a pale puerto rican man.
i can't correct myself
and i keep hating myself
but i never needed correction.
my thoughts also complete,
but they don't always have to.
not everything always has to be complete.
not everything always -

- has to be complete.

so i live and die in the same breath.
big deal. i keep thinking that, wherever i go,
whatever i do,
the outcomes are predetermined.
i can choose to relinquish my freedom by
acknowledging i never had it in the first place.
or the version of having freedoms that others didn't.
but it always comes down to privilege and freedom, doesn't it.
a pyramid not worth building.
to bury an idea not worth saving.