An island of light in the dark, it gives me hope. The one way my true feelings ever show, is when I bleed on the page. My soul pours out, on to the bright white. It’s funny how I can never speak these thoughts, I only ever write them down. I can’t speak with confidence, not even read out loud without my voice shaking. Shaking in fear. In fear of what? What do I have to be afraid of? Fear of judgment. Fear of rebuttal. Fear of a reaction.
My thoughts carefully composed and organized, they are tucked away. Hidden in the folds of a book or buried deep in guarded pages. What’s the point of having thoughts if they’re not shared? I suppose we should be more open with thoughts and feelings. But where is the place for them? The society we live in leaves no space for feeling. Emotion is weakness. It’s forced away, and every time it threatens to surface we kill it. Bury it deeper. Deny it more violently. Or, we let it out, lock it away, and pretend we never felt.
It will all implode one day. All these built up thoughts will slowly eat away at us until they consume us completely. And then what will be left? An empty space. A black hole. A shell vacant of emotion. Isn’t that what society expects? If one day we all silently died, and individual thought was erased, would society be any different? No.
Yet what of those elements of life, society, and culture that we hold so dear? Novels, plays, songs, films, poems. These declarations of feeling, may it be love, anger, frustration, friendship or lust, these elements are what we thrive on. How can it be that what is so eagerly suppressed by the common man is what defines some men as great? These few who have bled out on the page and expressed what every other has held back, these are the ones we praise. For being different. So why are we still suppressing?
Not everyone can be great.
But we can all try.