I used to see a bird and think to myself,
how beautiful and free,
and that by doing so I could somehow
internalize that perceived joy
as something extending from myself,
not just from the bird.
But now, whenever I see a bird,
I’m reminded that if I’m noticing it,
the joy I think I’m getting from it
is probably something I don’t have enough of
and want, so the usual symbolism
of the freedom associated with a bird
has become a symbol for feeling trapped
and my merely wanting a freedom
I might know a little about,
but would like more of.
The upside to taking responsibility
for your own projections, thereby
increasing your distinctness
and becoming increasingly aware of how
misperception plays into desire
in your own life,
has some drawbacks however,
one being that you get to realize
that you are a lot less happy
than you thought you were.
Other notable mentions:
realizing that contraries within the self
depend upon one another to exist, thus,
feeling happy or not
is sort of beside the point,
that you have no vision in your words,
and if you’re being true to yourself,
you’re bound to be a downer for others
at the staff party.
There used to be monsters in the bedroom
or the forest or in the water, anywhere
where darkness was,
but now I know I was always on the verge
of becoming the monster I wanted to see,
and that in reality I just really
wanted to be like one because I’d grown tired
of being unafraid of others, including myself,
and was worried that if I stopped
fearing too much I’d stop being human.
I was worried that by wanting to be too civil,
I’d become truly cold and abominable.
Now I make it a point to be disagreeable,
even with myself, knowing that if I don’t,
I won’t even start to understand myself,
won’t have a prayer at finding a way
through the legend of me.