until there's nothing left of me
sometimes i am a ghost, a shell of a person i used to be — warm, bright, alive. i pass through hallways and walls where i remain for eternity. i could not feel the cold; the cold had long become a part of me. in every room, a child’s laughter follows. an angry voice of a rageful teen, the desolate cries of a person barely moving — as if all my plagues were stuck in time. my own past, which i refuse to leave, torments me. i am both stuck and free. to walk away is a choice, yet i continue to be a ghost. a ghost haunted by its own horrors.
sometimes i am an animal who’s desperate for survival. survival is to be accepted. to be accepted is to keep performing. i am a rotting husk, half-buried in the sand under a tree that no longer shelters or holds me. in fact, it may never have. if i myself can no longer shelter or hold, is it okay for me to stay buried for a while? if i serve no greater purpose other than to just exist, is my purpose diminished?
i sit and wait and feel, it is the only way i know how to live.
sometimes i am eternally six — barefoot and naive. i pretend the world hasn’t wounded me, i pretend it never will. my name was written over and over between red and blue lines. my palm was stained with graphite. in that living room, sixteen years ago, the show began. nobody told me it that performing was a life sentence, and i must act until there was nothing left of me.
sometimes i am the show and the aftershow. i am the bright lights and spoken lines, the trees in the background, and the dry ice. i bleed myself and stain my gown, only to realize how everything was futile. the curtain was closed, the story had ended, the audience had gone. i still stand in the middle of an empty auditorium waiting for my chance to prove myself. i could cry and scream and smile and give my best, but all i would be doing is imitating my younger, better self.
is it alright if i’m no longer the person i used to be? if i am dead, haunting, rotting, and stuck? is it okay if i can no longer serve and please? mother, i am exhausted, is it enough if i just exist?
This piece was originally posted on Substack on November 1, 2024 and migrated to BearBlog on March 19, 2026.