I roll over on my back as I feel the sunshine seep through my windows. The rays are so bright it looks like the room is foggy. I latch onto my dreams when the smell of bacon pulls me out of bed.
I walk downstairs and see my mom's feast and find my way happily to the table. I say my good mornings and mean them. I greet my mom with a kiss on the cheek, then my dad, then my grandma. We all sit together and enjoy the meal. I copy every move my dad makes, mixing in the grits, with the bacon, eggs and country style potatoes.
No school, no responsibilities, I get to do whatever I want today.
I open the garage door and everything is as meticulous as can be, the cars happily sitting, and a bike awaiting for my arrival. I ride around the neighborhood, going in circles, cruising until I get to the park. I play around the slides, jungle bars, and swings. I play and walk around the grass and take in the happy children and parents.
The children look content enough as they jump and leap through the playground through death defying stunts. The parents smile nervously at their kids' every move. I see something a bit off putting in their eyes, sadness, maybe even death. Death of life, death of happiness.
I stop what I'm doing and frown due to the familiarity of the feeling. I keep looking at the eye of one father in particular. He looks up from his phone and stares at his child on the jungle bars. He looks at me and we latch gazes, we find comfort in the mutual death and sadness that has now overcome my body. I keep looking at him as the freshness and crisp smell of the air fades away. The aroma turns stuffy and a tad overwhelming.
I blink. I blink, and I'm staring at a price tag $12.99 for a box of grits. The same box of grits I used to enjoy so much. I don't need it, I move on down the grocery aisle.
I briefly make eye contact with a homeless woman galavanting wildly down the aisle screaming non-sense riding her high, high.
Why the fuck can't I afford grits?!
I wake up the next day, like a zombie forgetting what feelings feel like and constantly feeling tired. I keep telling myself that all this is worth something someday and that soon I'll be living my dreams. But as the days fade away and adulthood becomes more of a reality, what the fuck are my dreams?
I have to drive. I have to do laundry. I have to cook. I have to shower. I have to pay bills. I have to be responsible. I have to go to the doctors. I have to live. I have to change my oils. I have to vote. I have to protest. I have to go to the pharmacy. I have to talk to friends. I have to talk to family. I have to love. I have to get married? I have to find love? I have to start a family? No more school girl crushes, I have to put my big girl pants on. I can't be sad, what the hell is life insurance?
What is daydreaming anymore? I've become a robot. I don't hate it, but it does break my heart. It does make me horny. Very horny, so horny that that's the only thing that helps me feel.
That and mother-fucking coffee that fuels my movements as my soul lies paralyzed inside my body.
To sit in solemn silence in a dull dark dock.
I write, you read, we friends.