Stitchedup's profile
- Age
- 21 year-old
- Gender
- Male
- Location
- Cuernavaca, Mexico
- Description
- I am not a face; I am not this now faded body. I am all too well aware of the things I’m not, but what about what am I?
I am an endless longing for a brush in the cheek that never comes. A slight breeze, coming straight from the salty sea upon arrival to the blissful morning, striking with its overtaking heat. An unknown, yet to be discovered mass, dripping off to the ground; drop by drop, bit by bit. This overbuilt bitterness that was guaranteed to form something new, yet haunted, long ago before it could have a will.
As of late, I am merely a sentiment, hidden between the lines of who I used to be; or maybe who I was supposed to. Merely visible in the tender strokes of a brush or pressure applied against ink meeting a surface for the very first time.
There is no way I could ever fit nor belong into what most people take guaranteed for humans to be. Between being or not to be, I abstain from both. Am I even a person anymore? No, I don't think I am. I'm not human. I simply happen to be yet another victim of said inevitable condition.
I am the unwanted anomaly, the obscure and isolated experience, the exception to the rule; all that is not written across what remains of history and the very present of this plane of existence; out of all mediums capable of being created and portrayed on. Somehow, everything I am is nowhere to be seen, nowhere to be found. There is no community nor society I belong to neither wish to partake in. Wrestling against the current seems to be permanently entrenched and ingrained inside me. Element key is missing: I have an inherent inability to create connections and see myself in others. I was not given eyes to seek mirrors, to perceive the reflection of light; therefore completely unable to notice this same so-talked-about projection they bring. My only option is to reassure myself and create acceptance within my own consciousness.
This deep revolting hollowness inside of me is consistently and permanently present; a never-ending black hole that consumes everything within its reach and path. Dread is there even, awaiting me, when I sleep awake.
I try to create life where there isn't any. Even when there is no answer for such creature as I, I will break down these walls and find a new way out. Necromancer, brought myself back from the dead. Now there is nothing left but to begin, form and shape a sentient being where there wasn't any to show from the start; discover and venture how it's like: to be alive. I was born into this very moment, just now: reset me.
We all create our realities, the tales and stories we recount ourselves to be. Narratives of who we are, what we like, what we aspire to be; an everyday creation shaped by an endless formula of factors. Nothing is real, yet, everything is.
What about mine? You are standing in front of me, you can see it clearly now. You see me.