Scar Tissue

You did your job.  You killed the kid inside me.  The little boy playing in the shadows with the scar on his belly.  You did it.  I know that’s not what you wanted to do.  I know I could never tell this to you, but something about it feels real enough to be true.  Something about it resonates in this space.

What was life like for that little boy?  Where did he turn when the words reaching back were like locked windows?  As I’ve grown older, I’ve learned to see who I am in different ways.  I’ve learned who I am, who I was, and some of who I can be.  I’ve had to strip some of the trauma from my back like a bandage holding my soul together.  Some of the people that were previously closest to me have been pushed aside to make room for me to find who I am.

Something wonders if I’ve had to erase parts of me to get to the true layers beneath.  And there is doubt inside, doubt on both sides really.  Like, who am I if that part of me was just several projections built by others?  And on the other end, who have I been these last 10 years if not myself?

So yeah, maybe you killed the little boy inside, but a man is growing out from his shell.  These days there’s not much that I’m proud of, the wind sort of blows me back and forth, up and down.  A small mistake can take a big toll, a simple gesture can make a huge difference.  The depression can be kept at bay for the most part, but there is little to fill the void that it leaves behind.

Lately I’m grasping at straws with the hopes that someone will help me find the right one.  “I’m willing to share some more with you if you have time” or “Let’s find a way to collaborate.”  Not much has accumulated from it yet, but I’m younger than I give myself credit for.  Maybe Mexico is closer than a pipe dream, maybe I’m falling into something that I can’t see, something good.