I am not myself
There is nothing more disheartening
Than realizing you are unreal
You soar above us
Flying farther and farther away
When you touch back down
You run towards a different world
Each night you grow your wings
And fly back to your world of love and joy
But when you come back down
And realize your love and joy
Are now bruised knees and slashed wrists
Can you truly say
That your world is better?
What of the others?
Where do we fall?
Do we fall a thousand miles from the realm of normal?
Could we be that far away?
Constantly wandering the abyss of the individual
Wondering where to leave
Where to stay
This is our life
Leaving the world to travel through space
Leaving normality for reality
The soul is born first in those moments I told you of. It has a slow and dark birth, more mysterious than the birth of the body. When the soul of a man is born in this country there are nets flung at it to hold it back from flight. You talk to me of nationality, language, religion. I shall try to fly by those nets.