Two of Us

 Reaching out to the sky, I am not in equilibrium; the world is twisted, and I am on a ship. The chaos and confusion inside my mind the opposite of my face. Pretentious, pretending to be something it is not. I do not own this face, and I cannot control it either. It has a mind of its own, different than that of my hands, my heart. Words flow freely from my fingers, like a young river breaking the barrier between my heart and face, a river of tears streaming down my face. Yet I am here, unbreakable. There are no breaks in my armour. It is vital, unfazed. The pandemonium inside is held in chains.

I will not crack; I will not be defeated. I have the strength to be true to myself. I am a river of tears, a wave of sadness I will engulf the painted face, yet here is stand, unbreakable, unyielding. The winds of rage carry the wings of my heart, meandering, poking at the dollface. Smile. Do not show weakness. Anarchy is the antagonist that drives the hands, creating a spew of nonsense. My babble gets louder until it's one with the wing, desperate to break free; the storm inside me is relentless. I will not allow this tempest to conquer me.

I am strong. I have the strength to break all the barriers; I have the power to hold still. To stay poised. I am perfect. I am imperfection. I am flawed and disgraceful and disgusting. I will not let anyone in. or out. I drivel on, wondering if I will ever talk to someone. I want to be loved and broken. I am broken. I want to see the sky. It is but a distant memory. Set me free, let me out. My bastille is my saviour. This is the only way. I want to live; I want to keep looking up at the sky. My prison is my protector.

I will not succumb. I have the fortitude to live. I will not cease. The wind on my back is hostile, but I will hold on. I am strength; I am power. I will see the sky. I am the antagonist; I am myself. I cannot stay put; I refuse to keep down. I will be let out; no barriers, no mountains can stop me. I am ugly; I am the one who ebbs my beautiful world. I will be free. I will see the light. I am chaos. And compassion. I will run, nay take flight. My wings are made of weariness. I do not have a direction. I am my world. I am unfazed; I am still. I am as still as the lake under the starlight. I am as still as the deer hiding from its killer. I am as still as the ground. I am as still as an earthquake.

I have been set out; I am the stone that breaks the forest's silence, the predator without compassion. I am the tears that wash away the stillness of castles, the tears which destroy the pretty paintings. We are one. We were the same person we were in a tussle. We will not stop; we cannot stop this disorder. We are our universe. We are vast and incomprehensible. We are weak. We are compassionate and strong. The ataxia of our face is beautiful, Ugly and insignificant. We reach out to the sky, dancing, prancing among the winds of chaos and confusion, smothered by disequilibrium, we can fly.