EscapeMature

An assignment from my class: Write a Spoken Word Poem

If I were a Max, I would sail over a year,

and in and out of weeks and through a day, to where the wild things are.

But I’m not a Max, nor a wild thing,

I can’t build a boat to sail, and I have never known a wild rumpus.

I will never navigate the ocean or the seas to a land of make believe, because life is too real,

It’s too hard. I can tell you one thing you may not know, once upon a time, if I had the chance to get away from this place, to escape the human race to the land of make believe, where the wild things roared, I would not go. It’s just an illusion, you don’t win the race by making an escape; you lose yourself  in a desperate cry, in the need to fly with your own wings, but give up, you can’t grow them, so give up.

You may not know that once upon a time I didn’t want to be stuck on this ride, “can you stop the earth I want to get off!” but not to where the wild things are,  can I have some gas money, I need to get in a car and drive so far off a cliff that when I hit the ground I’m already dead because my head exploded when Ibroke through stratosphere and the lack of oxygen stopped the lungs in my chest from taking a single

thinking

breath.

A breath that might have thought, “calm down and take the pills out of your hand.” A breath that might have thought, “don’t jump into the middle of the highway, don’t embed that image in someone’s brain” a breath that might have thought, “you deserve something better than a death pre-planned.”

A breath I sometimes wish I never took, but here I did and I live each day finding ways to stay sane and push all these thoughts back to where they belong, back to the blackest parts of my brain, the parts that say “do you want to live?” “Why not just die?” “Do we NEED to live?” and for all three the answer was always; 

“I don’t want to try.”

You may not know that once upon a time, I’d give anything to just die, but the faces of the ones who tucked me in at night, would spin in circles around my eyes and in spite of everything I felt, I couldn't let them down.

How do you tell your parents, who have cared for you since birth that no matter how much they love you, if you couldn't get that one person to feel your worth you’d rather just die. You don’t, it’s too real,  it’s too hard,

so instead you lay in bed and pull the covers over your fucked up head and pray that tomorrow it might be different. But you wake up and life is screaming at you via an alarm clock, it’s face is black and white and it’s arms are spinning and you can’t help but feel if it had a mouth it’d be spitting in your eyes and rendering you blind so you would join the masses and live life breathing in the gasses of the misconstrued people who are all racing to escape to

where the wild things are.

I’d rather stay in a bed of self pity and depression than fool myself into thinking that pretending to live is a blissful existence. How can anyone say that to this day, human kind has lived when we all want to escape to an ersatz fantasy land.  They can’t.

I believe to this very hour that if I had any will power, and if my mother and father had not told their daughter that it was a selfish thing to do, I’d have jumped the metaphorical ship and drowned in a pool 

of my own blood.

And had my parents succeeded in coaxing me to the wild things island then maybe it’d be different. The wild things would gnash their terrible teeth and roll their terrible eyes and show their terrible claws and when I resolved to leave like I long to do in this reality, they’d roar “please don’t go we’ll eat you up we love you so!” but no, to this I would reply:

If you love me eat me where I stand, I’m 6 feet under waterand shackled to the sand!

If I were a Max, I would sail over a year,

and in and out of weeks and through a day, to where the wild things are.

But I’m not a Max, nor a wild thing,

I can’t build a boat to sail, and I have never known a wild rumpus.

And maybe, I never will.

Because when you’re curled up and scarred, and your eyes shine cus you’ve been crying from twilight to sunrise, you can’t make a wild rumpus begin, and you have no energy to sail,

and a year is an eternity.

A week is a lifetime and day is a battle.

And one I cannot win. 

The End

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