Mateo

If all my fantasies were reality, would I enjoy life, or would I become too accustomed to the thrill that no gratitude could possibly be expressed?

A fixture, not a light, yet tending to all my needs.

A monument, not a statue, yet unmoving and strong.

A memory, not in my mind, but livid in my heart and soul.

A fragrance, not cologne, but wafting into my airwaves to help me breathe.

Without these merits, I stand alone with no imposition of needs.

A vile, rancid maniac, distinguished for nothing.

I am improbable without the hover of your presence.

I am circumstantial at best with a path towards ruin.

Find me lost in a suburban area with a look of hopelessness on my face.

Picture an open field full of hidden holes, and I run through it, blind to these pitfalls.

No chance to make it through, not without you at least.

Am I biding time then, just waiting for the hours to tick past?

Am I losing my sense of truth by watching you for so long?

Have I no passion anymore because I’ve leaned on you?

Where is my sense of feeling?

It exists in a divided ecosystem within my own mind.

It is a narrative that I have created myself and I lose the feeling of your ground when I escape within its walls.

I experience more within than I ever could experience without.

But I lose everything when I withdraw to that place and become prematurely discouraged of the world in which I live.

Everything is possible, yet nothing ever succeeds.

Is it my lack of understanding that leads me to this conclusion?

Oh, but haven’t I strayed once again? Haven’t I just lost you?

Excuse me while I return.

It’s that gnawing doubt that makes me escape every time.

It’s an obstructive obstacle on my course to self improvement.

You move it with ease, but I tug and pull on it with no luck.

It stands tall barring my access to a fruitful life without uncertainty to haunt my steps.

I bear fruit that falls to the ground and rots.

I look to you to pick it up and put it in a basket, so that it may fill someone's stomach.

So that it may quiet a hunger in at least one individual.

So that it does not go to waste.

Then without you, all my fruit becomes the earth again.

Perhaps it grows new trees if you don’t pick it up for me.

And perhaps it grows too many new trees and the land becomes overcrowded.

Trees at the bottom begin to die because they don’t see the light and trees at the top grow too tall, too loud and boastful, full of themselves.

They spew hatred and care not for anyone else.

But alas, I’m getting ahead of myself.

No one said you would leave. I don't permit it, but what does my permission mean to a man like yourself.

You must stay, I beg, I need you.

But you laugh to yourself and shake your head.

I feel like a small child, talking to you.

You're a giant, well read, realistic, and you take care of me.

Pat me on the head and tell me my imagination is cute, fun, and ambiguous.

But it's not reality. So I’m lost.

I’m humbled by that. You give me a reason to be shy and its uncharacteristic of me.

But it’s because I admire you so much, and you don't understand why.

I’m livened by you because you create such harmony in my life.

You see, I’m atrocious. I’m scandalous, naive, rambunctious, disorderly, and dirty.

The things that come from my mouth make you blush.

How untrue I can be? How awful are the words I say?

So tell me to be quiet or end my speech, but you let me talk and I don’t know why.

You see all these flaws and childish traits and yet you adore me.

How could you?

It’s probably not real then, you’re probably not real.

Just another fantasy that I’ve delegated to myself.

But that’s strange because sometimes I change. It has to be real because sometimes I change.

When I talk to you, I’m not the same me.

I become more sophisticated, not always, but sometimes.

I hold more understanding, maybe.

You see I’m different, I feel it.

Only at first, then after catching up with you, I revert back to my childish dress.

I am as an impudent subordinate.

I find no reason then, to allow sympathy for my problems.

I find no reason to let you continue to waste your valuable time on me.

I am a mere beggar, as seen in my visage, you are my king.

So pardon my prose or that I should even have the ability to address you candidly.

You are miles above me and I am exposed to you completely.

I feel undeserving and I combat those feelings of insecurity with aggression.

I take shots and fire at you with an aim to kill.

You take nothing from me though. You allow my paradigm to unfold and offer no criticism in return.

You face the beast within me with calamity and experience.

Sometimes you ironically join my punches and I’m left wounded and whimpering.

But that chaos is all my fault, I throw beatings which I myself am not built to withstand.

Per my dilemma, you offer advice to better myself.

I wish I could do you the same. My strength lessens in your presence.

And my heart cannot sustain its beat, when we speak.

I am weak with you because you make me strong.

I rely on your breath to help me breathe.

Imagine a child so lost as I.

But I’m no longer a child. I am a woman, who still wavers at your existence.

I ponder nothing when I speak to you, for there isn’t anything to fear.

You show me the pain of the world but comfort me with words from that same realm.

By myself I run from the reality and hide away in my mind where I create sentences from those words.

They run free on the page and halt to no one.

Except, I halt, I tend to stop unannounced.

Do my words not stop alongside me? Do I not run the risk of losing them when I lose myself?

Ah, don’t pity me now, we’ve come too far.

I am the mouse in a lion's den. Is it your den we’re in? I do admire you so.

Can’t I keep hiding behind you? Can’t I cower below you?

I see no other strength that matches.

Forgive me, if I make no sense, if I draw no conclusions, if this has no end.

I wish not to hold you longer than I must. I know you’re busy and you’re attention is priceless to me.

I’d love to continue to be apart of your world even if that means you’re not apart of mine.

What am I saying? Really, what does it all mean?

Forget it, I won’t change a thing. If it doesn’t make sense, fine, that’s me.

I hate to be so blunt, it seems cruel, almost.

I wanted to give you something that you could adore, but I always feel it’s not enough.

I hope you’re happy with me, better yet, I hope you’re just happy.

Think of me always, I shan’t forget you, I shan’t ever let you go.

If it’s as hard for me as it is for you, I know we’ll be okay.

And maybe this is all for nothing.

Like I just run in circles, chasing my tail.

Imagine, when nothing is congruent, we are all at fault, lost in translation somewhere.

For confusion is a medicine, I think.

When we just don’t know it tends to bring other things into focus.

I’m liable to examine myself in this case, but perhaps so are you.

King or not, we all get lost.

I promise, I don’t forget myself.

I know my place, and I hope you understand yours. But even then, how could you, it's quite possibly just another thing I made up in my head.

I use to feel things, to feel them even when I haven’t lived them.

I desire to feel everything, to know everything. Don’t you?

Never mind, you don’t have to answer me, I’m no one when it comes down to it.

I’m no one and I adore you. Isn’t that something? No one adores you.

I apologize, but it's not like you didn't know, I told you I was a child.

Forever and ever, but I do grow, in many ways, I grow.

I’ll let you go now, I didn’t intend to hold you this long.

I’m surprised you're still here, and I’m sure you have many questions.

I could probably answer some, but many are inconclusive. I’ll leave it at that.

You have not faltered and I am not disappointed in you.

My mind prevails most times leading me down the wrong path with unfortunately incorrect answers.

But I’m not disappointed in you and I don’t detest you in any way, after all, I’m sure that would be treason.