in a stretch of dependence, i let myself into you.
holding you, with your jubilant smile,
is immeasurable.
speaking in moderated tones, with gentle,
we fall asleep together.

despite your insistence on keeping me near
you do not drive me away.
your archaic virtue, the unworldliness
is undoubtably endearing

the soft of your back is spongy, delicate.
so malleable.
vulnerable.

i can’t imagine
that i was once
you.
we were all once you.

i am afraid of rolling over you in your sleep
the air in my lungs crushing both of us.
you are hardly a person just yet.
miniature
just enough to mollycoddle

when i try to roll away from you
to put you down
you cling to me, tiny hands clutching and pulling
at my hair
my skin

i realize then, what it is like– even if, for a transitory moment
what it is like to be truly needed.
in that moment, you, the most susceptible
needed me
right
then.

stricken with this bit of humanity,
i awakened.

Can
you imagine yourself at the claws of society, billowing, wafting, at
the edge, yet- held onto so tightly, almost mercilessly?

So
there you stand- oh, yes, you. Darling, oh darling. What naivety. You
don’t need to imagine, as I presume that you, like the most of us, are
already there, hands fixed and hair blowing ever so gently. The back of
your neck prickling from the brash zephyr hurling itself upwards from
below, and you are unprepared, disjointed and lacking sufficient
information on your place in civilization. Are you a bystander,
watching in your disassociation, or do you stand there, smack
dab in the middle, knees and elbows constantly brushing up against the
sweat of fellow barbarians?

It’s okay.

No one is ever
really in, and no one is really ever out. Not you, not me, not him, and
certainly not her. You’ll learn, eventually, we hope. How long can one
brush with death so constantly- you’re on a cliff, my dear- and not be
aware?

Brush with death, you say. Isn’t that a bit dramatic, Deena darling?

Oh, but is it? Think about it.

You can’t just bring forth one of your ridiculous theories and not fully explain it.

It’s not to be explained fully.

And
then you’re just conversing with yourself. Maybe I’m just writing about
nothing or simply proposing ideas that can’t be fully backed up.

Most likely.

You know, I don’t want to be involved in either. In, or out.

It’s OK. None of us are out, and none of us are fully in, although some of us are more in, and some are more out. Pawns and those who are aware they’re pawns.

We don’t need to separate the two, because they are more or less the same.

It’s just the sub-categories, really, that start insurrection- actually, from within their own homes.

LET US DISCUSS TYPE #9. SOCIETY CONFUS PERSONAS.

And then, there are those of us, who are stuck between two societies,
two cultures. If anything, they are more attached to their previous one
than the current one they are living in, yet they refuse to re-enter
this earlier society permanently.

What’s your point?

They’re
wavering back between the precipice and the claws of the social order
so violently that they no longer are able to function normally,
subsequently, dragging down those around them.

Can’t you see?
One minute they are falling from the edge, bodies flailing, one arm
grasping onto the edge, the other grasping the sleeve of their oldest
child, despite the fact that the child, (who is not really a child,
in fact, because they are nearing the same age when they themselves
were married) would come to less harm if they fended for themselves.
Well, in actuality, they would not be in this situation in the first
place if their parents hadn’t dragged them along with them in the first
place. Unwillingly, of course. (When is one ever dragged willingly?
What say you, Deena!?)

Now imagine this- in efforts to not fall short of society’s limitless expectations, the Indecisive Parents
are thrust back into the crowd, in turn, losing grip on their not so
young children. The children, at the cusp of their individuality, take
this opportunity to gain newfound independence.

This
is not long-standing, considering they find themselves at their
inevitable alienation once again, as they are once again hanging off
the edge of a cliff, their sleeves being grasped by their overbearing,
time-trapped parents.

Once
again, we must point out the irony of this situation; the parents are
holding onto their children for their dear lives, thinking their
children will fall so fast. If their parents keep holding onto them
like that, well, they most likely will. Land on their necks while
they’re at it. Now, however, if the children were to, say, jump, there
is a high chance that they will land on their feet…

Where did this we come from, Deena? Nevertheless, can we solve this?

No matter. In this well adjusted society, everything will work out, right? (Please sense the sarcasm.)

Now, this is just one of the ever-many, ever-failing forms. I bring you only truths, here. I promise.

Now tell me if I’m lying.