Chasing free

An ordinary peace maker, with a heart filled with turbulence. An exuberant lad, whose inner self hurts and pains.

Tears is all that's left. No joy, no peace, no love, no trust. Nothing but a lad whose mind is enwrapped in existential crisis. He longs to be, to rule, to live. For all the pleasures of this world is one that cannot fit him in the eyes of those who seem to know best. He hates himself, because it was clear that no one really cared. No one ever wondered what it felt like to be in the mind of a loner. Suicidal thoughts, although a pacifist. He longed to be loved, embraced in the arms of affection. A vagabonde, with an unknown destination, in hunger and thirst for that which people enjoy with peace and gladness.

Everyone was better. Does that mean he was different? Of course he was different. No love gained for a person who knew less. When the smartest ones gather round in a click, the bad ones form a gang. He was all alone, looking, living, breathing. No life greater than the one he acquired, yet he wanders in search for the better things in life, seeming beyond his reach. He was everywhere but nowhere. With the smart ones, the good and bad. He mastered the art of humanity, lacking in so many who called themselves "Human beings", although their actions were that of vultures, (ready to scavenge on another person's carcass).

How could he ever make himself possible to the impossible, when he couldn't do the simple things needed? How could he find himself attractive, when his life is a pretence of what he feels? He carries a weight on his shoulder, chanting to himself, inhaling the air in large quantity, (a way to remind him he was in the land of the living). But deep down in his heart, with all the challenges faced, he wished he died.

It was so much easier when people criticized those who killed themselves. "Fools, or an act of stupidity that only idiots that have no vision partake in". But no one ever wants to know why? The world is a large place. A cosmos larger than the weight he carried. Fists up in the air, while comrades march in unison to create awareness mentioning that we aren't alone in this world. But the truth is, we all are alone.

Christ took the pain, and as long as the weight are casted upon him, our burdens become light. But why does this lad feel pained? So fucking pained by the way he lives differently from those around him?

Maybe he was a mistake. An unwanted product that couldn't be used by those who brought him to the world. No tears left to cry, no solid reason to be alive anymore.

No mental stability. His life is a fucking joke! No reward for his hard work, no exaltation to his humility. No glimpse of happiness, whatsoever, and in the hurt and pain and distress, he still smiles, listening to, adhering to, talking to, and hating his contribution to every individual around him who wouldn't do the same.

The tragedy he wished would be history, has now caused a nightmare in his head. A prayer he wants to be answered has become words hanging above the ceiling. Killing of the innocent, ill surge of poverty, and the poor; used to the advantage of those who have many. Suicides caused by lack of understanding, lack of care and affection. The economy seeming depressing. Political rivalry, heaving apathy towards democracy in the hearts of the leaders of tomorrow.

But we all fear in the face of death. As long as we're still breathing, we've got many hurdles to cross. The creator has a reason for every soul living. As long as we live, we have a story to tell. A life to share. A unity in unison to similar minds, aiming in making the world a better place. A home drenched in love.

For if this world would be filled with care, curtsey, meekness and love, he wouldn't have to bear such crisis of existence. He wouldn't have suicidal thoughts. He'd live this life in the best way he can, because they cared, they loved, they embraced, and they helped. But the world is now corrupt with everyone living in solitude. No love lost, no love found. And so he concords with his creators act of genius, silencing himself to the negative while battling with his mind, his thoughts, his words and every action. The unfathomable ache of upheavals, the unfathomable ache of negligence.

He chants, breathing in large amount, clenching his fingers on his hair while pulling them out in full grit every night. Tears flow with a certain warmth passing through his cheeks while he says to himself in a tentative whisper. "I hate you". Hate becoming the anthem of the world instead of love, ignorance in the place of care and acceptance.

Regardless, he lives on, grateful for the life he lives. Grateful to put a smile on the faces of those he sees (acquaintances and strangers alike). Grateful for the beauty in nature all around him, trees, blue sky and hills. Grateful, for even if the battle keeps going, he inhales the positive, and exhales the negative in the best way he can. No ropes or knives or poison to end his living, his trauma, his pain.

His story already has a legitimate origin. And just like many others before him, and those who will come after, this young lads story has only begun. And until it reaches the very end of the world, he won't stop telling his story to those who are just like him. Hoping for the greater good of the earth and it's dwelling, hoping for a community he can call his home.