My initial reaction upon seeing this was a smile that lasted the entire time lifetime it had in front of me. Some inspiration. Some curiosity. I felt almost as awkward and nervous as the gentlemen about to take flight. But upon second viewing, it was really something. Precious. Comforting. Bold. Believable. Relatable. April will mark a year of what I would consider the most difficult time of my young life. The coldest, cruelest misery I have yet endured. Substandard the materialistic nonsense, the good times I cannot say I had… above all of it, the worst part was I almost gave up. I went through a hell that absolutely dominated me. The systems gruesome expectations and an unforgiving society made me feel like smeared paint left out to dry. A constant itch at a mental infection, never fading, never healed.The absolute shackled-up shit show I can literally see in the mans suit. A constructed idea of the drones the system thinks we should be but the way I was never programmed. I had become a sad circus act. My behavior a big show. The blonde June in the center of an arena, crouched down reaching for the comfort of solid ground. A crowd of people in a 360 circumference with different size heads. The small ones associated with people I would never know and would always stay that way. Whom my pathetic-ness leaked all over, an eye sore in peripheral. The medium sized heads of the system coaching me, critiquing me, threatening me, yet satisfied with close seats and scoring in on bigger bowls of popcorn. Neither magnitude mattered. But the big heads, those were the ones I feared. My close friends, the keepers of my secrets. My family…the parents. What awful experiment, how I couldn’t have gone more wrong. And it was hard to decipher those heads no matter the space in me they took up. Unsure if they were there for any other reason than to stare, regardless of the volume in their laugh. The expression on their face. The weight of their desire. How eager to show me my amount.To compare my grain of sand importance to the giant-ism that was everything else. The egos, the utter disappointment, even the physical beams holding the very imagination of the act together, And there I was, dead center, the freak everyone gathered to see. But as they always do, the circus shut down and the crowd dissipated, all that was left was the smog of pollution. Kicked up dirt slowly settling. Left there was a withered young girl. Stacked like a leaning tower of old newspaper with regret. Smeared paint. Mental infection. A relationship with the outside world nothing but ash. And let me tell you, smoke and mirrors love, relationships, connection has got to be the worst way to choke. The soot of insult and alienation coats your throat, solidifying into breathable tar. It’s a slow death. You get used to abandonment.
This could be the saddest thing I have ever written, but the worst part is that I lived it. Yet the best part is, I survived it. And I’m slowly being taught to look for the best in everything. Not everyone was a face in the crowd; in fact, some of the closest people to me were fellow performers. But I’m writing this for the lone wolf. The red unused crayon in the 64 count box. The last leaf on the branch. The lost on the midnight train. Courage is a bulb that cannot burn out. A flower that cannot wither. A wing can be clipped but that doesn’t stop the dreamer from flying at night.
Soar on little birds, stop your bones from aching. Cradle your pain for as long as it takes but don’t forget it can heal with love. Another day is just that; another day. Sometimes success can mean just waking up in the morning. But there is nothing more beautiful than a freak show becoming a world reknown act. And I’m getting there. This week marks the beginning of taking the old circus down and setting the stage for a life in the metaphoric “front row seat.” Normal is different to every body. Fairness as well. But perspective is a gift. The succession of this street art is a timeline of my life. That crouch is my now and the wings are just now getting feeling back.
I will never forget this painting. I will never have to since I am finally getting this out. It exists in the virtual realm of the internet. And yet, it no longer lives in me. A weight tide to my neck kept me anchored, but the idea, the art of flight has kept me sane. Kept me alive. Kept me here, Expression, quite literally, can save a life.
Soar on, my little birds, stop your bones from aching. Cradle your pain for as long as it takes but don’t forget it can heal with love. Another day is just that; another day.