Who We Are


How I feel. What I feel. Sometimes the feelings just bubble up inside of me and I want to scream. Scream so loud at the top of my voice. Sometimes I actually feel the power of my voice building up inside me. Climbing up from my stomach, going up my windpipe, crawling up, slowly, steadily, till finally it’s in my throat and I want to let it all out. I want to make as much noise as I can.

 

But I can’t.

 

Too many people looking and staring at me. Too many eyes. Sometimes the eyes are real and sometimes imaginary. Sometimes no one is looking but I think someone is. I think people are looking, staring. Peering eyes. From the back of the car, from behind the door, from under the bed, from between the bushes. Staring peering eyes all day and all night. Looking at me accusingly, accusing eyes. Inquisitive eyes. Calm, eyes that cause panic. Panic in my heart. Panic in my mind. What is he thinking? What are they saying? The butterflies in my tummy asking, asking, asking questions. Wondering what is going on outside the walls of my stomach and causing me to wake them out of their stupor. The butterflies crawling up my windpipe and exploding in sound. Sound so loud only I can hear it. Silent scream bursting my head and my ears but no one else hears it. No one else can see the pain inside.

No one but me.

And God.

For sometimes, even I cannot tell what goes on in my heart and the feelings I thought I had turn out to be feelings implanted in me from others or from experiences. And there are some days when I  just wonder what goes on in my subconscious and what my mind does when I’m asleep. Because it doesn’t sleep. No my mind doesn’t sleep. Always working. Always thinking. Always always working. And only God knows the workings of a man’s mind. Only God knows what we really think about. We are what we think. Are we? Who then are we? Songs? Theories? philosophies? Who are we really? But dust and blood and bones and flesh and dirt and grime. Who are we??

We are what we feel. Then I am anger and joy and passion and creativity and love and hate and peace. We are what we feel and what we feel leads us to think and what we think is an indirect representation of what we feel. And so we are.

Rowie.

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