I had all the trappings of a whiz kid,
When I was only diagnosed with Tourette's,
Anything was possible, weighted, granted, but this single ailment left me with increased potential, for a time I was still limitless
As life went on, many ailments later, it became increasingly apparent, much to my chagrin,
That to everyone else, I was going nowhere with exponential speed,
What is it that I still don't understand about life that makes me so fragile in everyone else's eyes?
In life, all I've historically wanted is to believe
I predicted that supercomputers would engineer cures for diseases,
I posted about it on Reddit,
Long before IBM Watson,
Long before it became public knowledge that scientists were successful with this particular feat
A Jack of all trades, unfortunately, a master of absolutely none,
I'm a lick smarter than even Liz Phair, I can hold my own in any boys club with aplomb, I know my way around most conversations, I put preconceived notions about me in the rear view
Ultimately, my problem might actually be the nature of what I want…
My GPS isn't always wired into the particular make and model of actualization I'm running with on any given day
I'm constantly reinventing myself and sometimes my hardware doesn't immediately get with the new program
So, it would stand to reason, with all this potential, that I would find something incredibly obtuse to do with myself,
That it wouldn't be wasted on some silly, inconsequential retail job
That I would distract myself from the trappings of the world, the dilly dally of every day
That I'd buy myself a little time, esoteric musings and yen on my mind,
Never to spend a penny of what I earned, until I was near a Sotheby's, and Light Construction was on the line
I've always desired to remodel my ancestral home,
Let in the beauty of all that is light,
Go back to sleep during the hot afternoons and proceed to rage, deep into the whisky kiss of the strong, bold, new, broken nights
Cherishing every moment with my grandmother and beloved partner that I could,
I had hoped, one day I'd put in an elevator for my grandmother around when she retired,
After my circle was finished with the HOA banned gas fire display and goodnights were articulated
My boyfriend and grandmother would then gratefully retire,
Up through the garage into the guest bedroom,
There, Light Construction would hang,
It would be beautiful,
It would be ours,
A treat escaped to,
Us manufactured superstars
Now, however, I laugh a little at my dreams
I'm rubbish at anything that's already been conceived, when I'm really low I even question my ability to make my own mark on this world,
With the great authors and tech legends that I look up to, how could I ever hope to compete?
Being myself is to be frowned upon, it's a harrowingly shallow mire, a series of bitter lies constantly maintained, it's a completely joyless tightrope bereft of happiness and riddled with the complications of codependencies,
Often, I need to make others happy before being explorative with myself, this circumstance is believably paramount only within the constrains of the reality of a bitter youth worn out, stretched thin, spread out and expired half a decade over into oblivion
However far I want to run for people, fundamentally, I need to blitz the extra mile for them substantially less, cut myself from my own coat strings and drive the victory Ferrari across the finish line out of my own gauntlet of sorrow
From way down here, my courage and optimism still shines, even with all my interpersonal relationships being wildly squirrelly,
Even without knowing the particular path I'll ascend into the light
Forever is bloody crazy,
Flooded in its headlights, it's scary, most of the time it's why I just want things to clean up nicely within an untimely end
If I can convey one point, beyond anything else I have so far alluded to,
It's this,
Life is a constant sum game, self preservation is an ever growing exercise in the compartmentalization of your every hope and dream,
Kandinsky or not,
In the end,
Most of us are dammed to die in the wake of an endlessly futile dream
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