How Can I Help You

How Can I Help You

At some point I have to stop trying to win the affection of my parents. It’s over, it’s inevitable. I’m estranged and there’s no going back.

            What’s the opposite of incest? As if there’s only one. I believe that I never exchanged the words “I love you” until I was consciously aware of doing so, at which point I was intrinsically terrified of its underlying finality. I’ve only said it when I felt it, when I knew it was real, but there’s been plenty of times when I felt it and didn’t say it. Shouldn’t such inhibition and self-reflection sort of cancel out every previous and future heartfelt connection? Or can time and place really have a valid nullification property? Just because I’m trying to make money and you’re trying to have a good time, where is the harm or foul in sharing or not? Because nothing is ours to keep, if it’s even ours in the first place, so we might as well go on believing that we’re sharing this rare and mutual experience?

            Do you know what it means to be sheltered, guarded, and then exploited? Business as usual. The development behind cherished baby blue eyes of crystal water, fed vitamins and forced smiles. The perfect little fleshy vessel.  One day the man of her dreams will finally see the light gazing back and want nothing more than to kiss it and make it better.

            I don’t have a chip on my shoulder that may not be accounted for by the numerous trips I’ve made around the old block. It’s all good. And now I just gotta keep the ball rollin’ because I knew this day would come, I know who I want to be and the world I want to live in. Historically, this is the only way. Practice makes perfect, each and every time in the eyes of a certain beholder, the one it’s drawn to and draws to it.

            Encouragement is the casual, not-so-silent killer. But for me to stop would be a waste of taxpayer’s good money. Something about opportunity cost and doing something with my life, something different that will be appreciated. I have hopes and dreams. I know the only to get what you want is to want it.

            I’m sick, I’m gross. I’m spending wisely and coming up short. I’ve forgotten my investments and what it means to be prosperous rather than to become such. To be the platform rather than to ever climate.

            Someone is always awake, keeping track of time, noticing the details and taking due note.

            I am liberated, less concerned with what comprises a thin line of graphite on a clean linen sheet. My debt is a festering wound. I’m not honest. I’m not honest.

            The church of intrinsic motivation. The name should leave chills in anyone’s spine, chills that don’t run up and down but just are, regardless if they attend or not.