If the goal of my work is to make myself not needed, am I in the profession of slowly erasing myself? And truthfully, the work will continue without me, so where does that leave me? How do I make meaning from this if it's ultimately not about me?
I hear the screaming through the walls and hope it's the television. Then I sit and think of the isolation that my generation endures and wonder where it's taking us. If I was taught inclusion when I was younger and some of that is only coming out now, what will come out of this next generation? Am I just getting old and beginning to see the neighbor kids begin to tread on my lawn? Caught between what I was raised to be and what I've learned that I am, I can't choose which way to go.
I know life is gray and something inside me chooses to just stay where I am. If I stay locked inside these walls then no one will get hurt, but even that's not true. What about me? What about the brain between my ears? Have I no value? Do I bear nothing of worth? Maybe I'm just aiming to minimize damage done in the spheres that go with me.
Are you any better for having heard me? But are you any worse?
Who are you? And what are you looking for?
Maybe if I knew you we could reach into each other, rather than reading and writing useless lines between us. This is like a series of miscellaneous dots strung together with barely noticeable lines, but yet you're still reading and, for now, I'm still writing.
I don't know anymore though. These public whispers do sometimes seem to do something for me. Perhaps they minimize the isolation or the sentiment thereof. She said she saw a transformation and now somehow I feel it, but how could any of this ever be compiled into one place? So the lines connecting the dots that you see here, could you share with me what they've done for you? What the do for you? Because by now I'm just hoping that someone's listening or that this will prove some benefit to those in earshot.
You're not alone. There. Is that enough?
No comments:
Post a Comment