I am not a beggar
I do not cry from my hunger
I bare down on an empty mouth with gritted teeth
I let holes burn in my stomach before I allow myself to eat
Consumption is a sin
To want is to waste
Like the monks before me, I know I can wait
I eat my sins
I gag from the taste
The more there is
The less I take
Because I know how much it costs
And I cannot pay
They told us to aim for the stars, that even our failures would be rich.
They didn't tell us that in exchange our victories would feel cheap and lifeless.
I have to fail to feel.
I want to know what you hold close when your feeling empty
I want to know what you claw together and stuff into your empty chest like cotton in a corpse.
When your numb and dead and there's nothing left what keeps your shape?
Is it worth it, This thing your clinging to?
Does it make you more human? Does it break the numbness?
When every piece of you is dead and gone what should I expect?
The grass is greener somewhere ahead. But half the time I'm walking backwards.
I don't consider myself particularly religious.
But I think I might understand why rural areas are so full of superstition.
Not out of an antiquated idea of ignorance.
But because if you've ever seen dawn bleed red into the dying breath of a bright white night, then you'd know God too.
There's a strength in the palms of my hands.
And I sit in awe of it.
A short lifetime of climbing my way up and through.
Gifted and abused are my fingers.
Peppered with calluses and scars.
And I find I like it, this simple fact about myself.
It could have been true of a lot of people.
But in this moment it is my truth
in other words, the chaos that paves the path from birth till death
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