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Lost-Illusion's Blog

When I Was A Kid

When I Was A Kid

When I was a kid.. I hid my heart under the bed because my mother said. “If your not careful someday someone's going to break it.” Take it from me, under the bed is not a good hiding spot. I know because I've been shot down so many times I get altitude sickness just from standing up for myself.

When I was a kid.. I could fill a bookshelf with every different way they would tell me how not to play. They’d say. “It’s time to start putting childish things away.” and I was like. “F*** you! This is skeletor.” But more and more they made me believe that our hearts are like door knocks and that where we get the sound of the beat.. And I’ll never get to meet the man inside of me if I can’t stay still long enough to be there. I’ll never make it anywhere if I keep running away. I’ll never know myself if all I ever do is play nikki- nikki- nine, don't wanna be a “man.” When I was a kid I wanted to be a “man.” I wanted to registered retirement savings plan that would keep me in candy long enough to make old age sweet. I wanted two left feet so I could dance around important issues until way passed my bedtime. I’m not saying I don't have opinions, just that others were less likely to argue if they were as tired as I was. Fatigue does to men, what a goodnight kiss does to kids. It put weights on our eyelids and returns us to a place where reason and imagination laced together, shoes whose tongues stick out at stillness and beckoned us to move forward.

As a kid I was always drawn toward moonlight. Despite an armata of adults who insisted I must set my days according to sunlight. I would lay in bed and fight sleep, believing if I shut my eyes even for an instant I would miss out on something amazing.. Turns out I was right. I have seen stars stamped into the night like cookie cutter designs. Drew lines in between each one, inventing new constellations so that when somebody asked me. “What’s your sign?” I could point to mine, the one hanging over the first door passed the finish line and say. “It's right there.. The one marked exit.” Because one day all this getting ahead bullsh*t will be over and people will start looking for me and I’ll be there. I’ll wear my best flashing red and you, you will stand winner circle, thoroughbred. I will unthread the screws that will put you throughout this life then smile and say.. “You made it..”

When I was a kid I traded in homework assignments for friendship and gave each friend a late slip for never showing up on time and in most cases not at all. I gave myself a hall pass to get through each broken promise.. And I remember this plan, born out of frustration from a kid who kept calling me yogi.. Than pointed to my tummy with a small chuckle and said. “To many picnic baskets!” Turns out it’s not that hard to trick someone and one day before class I said. “Yeah.. You can copy my homework..” And I gave him all the wrong answers that I had written down the night before. He got his paper back expecting a near perfect score and couldn’t believe it when he looked at me across the room and held up a zero. I knew I didn’t have to hold up my paper of twenty eight out of thirdy but my satisfaction was complete when he looked at me puzzled and I thought to myself. “Smarter than the avrage bear mother f***er.”

When I was a kid I slid love letters through the slots of lockers that belong to my secret crushes. I built paintbrushes from the tiny hairs that stood on end, every time I saw them. My brain stem finally bloomed with thoughts. I connected the dots and made masterpieces. Each brush stroke a thesis dedicated to the explanation that you, not knowing who I was.. Was only because anonymity made it easier to be brave. I dipped my brush into a tidal wave of I hope this will one day wash over me. I can guarantee, if you’ve ever had a secret admirer. It was someone very much like me who loved someone very much like you. With someone who wanted to tell you how much you’ve meant, how every second we spent thinking of you was simply the cost of getting us through the hard times. We saved nickels and dimes hoping my first date would be with you. So the disappointment of love, we gave up comic books and video games and I promise you every guy I’ve ever met remembers the names of the ones they loved first. That our thirst for love continues as we cross the desserts of maybe believing we will find an oasis of yes. “Yes...” we acquiesce.. Yes.. we probably should have said something. But we were chicken sh*t.. We lit the fuses of our hearts and exploded every time you walked on by..

When I was a kid.. I did stupid sh*t. Ripped the women's underwear section out of the Sears Christmas wish catalog and blamed it on my granddad. He did end up covering for me and had only this to say. “Your only twelve! That’s why I'm impressed.. But take it from experience don't hide that under your mattress..” So I didn’t. I hid it in the empty box of a board game that I never used to play.. And on the day when my grandmother eventually found it, she reamed him out for hiding pornogrify in her grandsons bedroom. The impending doom of the truth set upon me like a die in the sun sending it’s last ray of light over the horizon and aimed directly at me. He didn’t say a word. Incurred the full wrath than laughs with me later saying. “It’s like your heart.. It doesn't matter where you hide it. Lovers are like little kids, lifting up a rock looking for an insect. They will find that sh*t.

When I was a kid.. I trusted myself to know one day I’d be a man. One day I’d have a childhood for a past and a future for a back up plan. That every gauntlet I ever ran was a potato sack race in which time would chase me further toward an ending. I am bending myself back to the beginning, reminding myself there is no winning a race against yourself. Slow down.. And when the kid in back of you falls.. Turn around. Pick them up, dust them off than continue, trust me you are going to need that kid. Your gonna need someone to remind you that every weed is a flower. Just trying to make sh*t work. That every jerk you ever encounter is just another someone who somehow forgot that it’s ok to need a hug. It’s ok to be afraid.

When I was a kid I played hopscotch with the lines they drew in the sand, landed on the conclusion that second hand clothes at least to the benefit of experience and I’ve got a hundred and thirty seventh hand heart.. Broken up apart and stitched back together at the seams. I’ve cartwheeled across balance beams made from the broken finger bones of people who could not let go of this life. I still love the night. I love the fact that if you squint your eyes just right.. Stars look like porcupines of light, stumbling across the dark, dipping their quills into the night, trying to write apologies for all of the unanswered wishes from the time we once wished upon them. Sometimes I still wish.. And most time I wish I didn't have to. I wish I didn't have to wish. So I guess what I’m saying is that I hope. I hope I never forget that kid who grew up inside me. He just seemed to laugh a little bit louder, smile just a little bit longer, loved a whole lot stronger, world's first official awesome, taking awesome from door to door. Take as much as you need, don't worry about me I’ve got more. I’ve got a candy store filled with whatever it’s going to take to make tomorrow sweet. I’ve got two left feet and no bedtime. I’m still not brave enough to have an origie but I rock this slumber party, come nap with me. First one to fall asleep loses.. First one to fall asleep wins. The race stops at the start and the finish line is where it begins so this time first one to lose wins. I know.. We never meant to turn our hearts into garbage bins. It was an accident. I know the headlines about us giving up were a missprint and really just bad reporting. I know we’ve been boarding up all the windows from the outside in. We’ve been doing it ever since they told us to start letting things go and i know we got into the habit of throwing everything away but your heart is a door knock and every time it beats.. It’s just that kids way of asking. “Can you please come out and play?”
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0 | 0 Comments | Feb 11th 2019 05:36

To This Day

To This Day.

I’m not the only kid who grew up this way… surrounded by people who used to say that rhyme, about sticks and stones. As if broken bones hurt more than the names we got called and we got called them all. So we grew up believing no one would ever fall in love with us. That we’d be lonely… forever, that we'd never meet someone to make us feel like the sun was something that built for us in their tool shed. So broken heart strings bled the blues as we tried to empty ourselves so that we'd feel nothing, DON'T TELL ME THAT HURTS LESS THAN A BROKEN BONE. that an ingrown life is something surgeons can cut away, that there's no way for it to metastasize, but it does…

She was eight years old our first day of grade three when she got called ugly. We both got moved to the back of class so we’d stop getting bombarded by spitballs, but the school halls were battleground where we found ourselves outnumbered and day after wretched day we used to stay inside for recess because outside was worse; outside we’d have to rehearse running away or learn how to stay still like statues giving no clues that we were there.

In grade five… they taped a sign on the front of her desk that read, “beware of dog.” to this day despite a loving husband she doesn't think she’s beautiful… because of a birthmark that takes up a little less than half her face. Kids used to say she looks like a wrong answer that someone tried to erase but couldn't quite get the job done and they'll never understand that she's raising two kids whose definition of beauty begins with the word mom. Because they see your heart before they see your skin, because she's always only been amazing.

He… was a broken branch grafted onto a different family tree, adopted, not because his parents opted for a different destiny. He was three when he became a mixed drink of one part left alone and two parts tragedy. He started therapy in grade eight, had a personality made up of tests and pills, lived like the up hills were mountains and the down hills were cliffs. ⅘ suicidal, a tidal wave of antidepressants and an adolescence of being called popper. One part because of the pills, 99 parts because of the cruelty. He tried to kill himself in grade ten, when a kid who could still go home to mum and dad, had the audacity to tell him “get over it.” As if depression is something that can be remedied by any of the contents found in a first aid kit. To this day he is a stick of TNT lit from both ends. Could describe to you in detail, the way the sky bends and the moments before it’s about to fall and despite an army of friends who all call him an inspiration, he remains a conversation piece between people who can't understand, SOMETIMES BEING DRUG FREE HAS LESS TO DO WITH ADDICTION AND MORE TO DO WITH SANITY.

We weren't the only kids who grew up this way… to this day kids are still being called names. The classics were “hey stupid, hey spaz.” It seems like every school has an arsenal full of names getting updated every year and if a kid breaks in a school and no one around chooses to hear, do they make a sound? Are they just background noise from a soundtrack stuck on repeat when people say things like kids can be cruel? Every school was a big top circus tent and the pecking order went from acrobats to lion tamers, from clowns to carnies. All of these miles ahead of who we were, we were freaks. lobster clawed boys and bearded ladies, Oddities juggling depression and loneliness, playing solitaire, spin the bottle trying to kiss the wounded parts of ourselves and heal.

But at night, while the others slept, we kept walking the tightrope; it was practice and ya, some of us fell, but I wanna tell them that all of this… is just a debris, left over when we finally decide to smash all the things we thought we used to be and if you can't see anything beautiful about yourself, get a better mirror, look a little closer, stare a little longer! Because there's something inside you that made you keep trying despite everyone that told you to quit! You built a cast around your heart and you signed it yourself and you signed it “THEY WERE WRONG!” because maybe you didn't belong to a group or a click -- maybe they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything, maybe you used to bring bruises and broken teeth to show and tell but never told… because how can you hold your ground if everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it. YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE THAT THEY WERE WRONG! They have to be wrong. Why else would we still be here? We grew up learning to cheer on the underdog because we see ourselves in them. We stem from a root planted in the belief that we are not what we were called. We’re not abandoned cars stalled out and sitting empty on some highway and if in some way we are, don't worry - we only got out to walk and get gas. We’re a graduating member from the class of we made it. Not the echoes of voices crying out names will never hurt me... of course they did but our lives will only ever always continue to be a balancing act that has less to do with pain and more to do with beauty.
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2 | 0 Comments | Feb 10th 2019 23:23