The Way of The Lost, Forgotten Again

​when I was a child, I lived my life in the ways of the lost, the ways of those in confusion, struggle pain.

I was a child, and I questioned, why am I so vulnerable to the world? 

The agony. I was an outcast, nothing to rely on beside the structure of my city, the skyscrapers of memories that I could not travel from, they are but a sight in the distance, always within the horizon of even the days I found myself smiling. It was mostly at comic books, alternate realities where I found comfort. I could not grasp my own, or maybe I did not want to.

Or just maybe, it felt like something beyond what the world could actually offer me would save me from the drugs, the violence.

I cried a lot. I wanted God to feel bad for me, I thought if I begged to the same God that gave my father cancer for an answer the world would stop banging my fucking mind with this titanium hammer.

I questioned why, I was so vulnerable to the world. why did the slaps and punches feel like gun shots, why did the manipulation feel like my future more than it did my present, why was I the only one seeing it all, why am I so differently wired, and I swear to god I asked my parents if I was a Martian because I had no other explanation for the world I felt within me.

It was equivalent to tsunamis, the waves rose and destructed within me, the sun ceased to shine in a world where it wasn't known, the earth cracked and shook ferociously , rumbling in my stomach and I knew it wasn't just hunger.

I grew up, grew apart from the world I once knew. I escaped the fire, but I questioned, why do I still feel the burns?

They all called it anxiety, depression, the usuals, but that concept wasn't very alluring to me. I didn't believe there was a title for the disease I have. teachers called it beautiful, I had a mind worth an old soul, but old souls are peaceful and I'm a soldier at war.

I was lost, my entire life.

It was not a maze I was lost in, I could figure those out. 
It was the questions, the worries, the wonders, the blunders, the shame, the wishes. 

I never liked mirrors. I avoided them at all costs in school, I knew it would ruin my day. 
It was no longer a pain I could fathom, I grew sick and tired of being the sickly tires of the automobile that drove my mind in to the hole. I could put anything in to words, except myself. I could spell anything, except triumph.

I grew an anger for the world, told myself I would hate it even if it apologized to me.

Well, it apologized to me.

I came across a power, a soul in which the tsunamis were reduced to Caribbean waves, streams, the earth did not break, but my structures did. I felt vulnerable again, terrified of such a feeling overcoming me once again I fought to stay knighted, to stay playing defense but humans aren't born with a shield and I spent my whole life protecting myself, it could not happen for another day whether I wanted to or not. It was out of my control, I grasped and reached for it but it was bigger than I, it needed cooperation. 
I lived those moments of danger, unable to stay away from the adrenaline rush of harnessing such a power. It was a tight rope walk, and I guess this was the only time I wasn't scared of heights, scared of falling, because I have fell, fallen, to such a power.

The world apologized to me, the world gave me you.

Granted, mountains had to be climbed, oceans had to be swam, the clock must rotate. 
But I have never felt such an ambition, triumph was my new favorite word, because triumph, was my life.
I would catch myself smiling, looking. 
I would catch myself reminiscing, missing. 
I would catch myself tempted, motivated to prove.

I felt something within me, and those who knew me best tried to describe it,
but I was finally an artist, this was my design.

If love is a home, then god you are my home-ie, and without the power I would be homeless.
If love was hope then you have always been my hopeful and I look at you right now in my hope-nest

and if love is real, then I'm on LSD because reality is dimensional, and  I see your reality with each song you send, perhaps each sunset you seek. 
And at this point I have found that the ways of the lost is the way of my humanity, my essence, and if I am lost, then I have stumbled across what I have seeked to find

And I thank the world, I can look it in the eyes now, I am no longer vulnerable to its wrath, yet thankful of its gift.

I have grown, triumphed, found.
I now question, with bright eyes and a smile I cannot control,
Why, am I so vulnerable to you?
A question, I never want to answer.