This Essay is A Poem That Looks Like and Essay I sit outside at night, and breathe in the air of this sleepy city, it has started to feel stale, I breathe it but my lungs feel heavy with each intake. Iâm almost afraid to draw the next breath. Often I relinquish myself to dreams of places far away where the pollution of the air is more from the cars and less from the loneliness of the people. Something smells lonly about the air here, like everyone just settled and had children, no one found their hearts desire they just found a state of monetary contentedness for the greed that overwhelmed their will to live. Itâs likely their children will end up the same as them if they donât take chances. There are so many people that say they are perfectly content living exactly where they grew up and never taking vacations out of the state. I feel as though they have caged themselves to the solitude of knowing nothing but the people and negativity they surround themselves with, the heavy air and therapists prescriptions to something that will replace what they could look for in the ocean. Opening up to them is unimaginable, they could not touch the sky if they were standing on a ladder as the air above them would be somewhat unfamiliar. I hate to watch these people flounder the way they do. âThere is nothing for you hereâ I want to say to them, âleave, find your joy in foreign landâ but no matter my words, I am sure they would continue to do exactly as they do. They would brush my advice away with ease, as fear is their keeper. To be kept shaking, scared of new beginnings must be hell in itself, to not pack your bags and leave if your are able is a waste of life. To never see something different is a waste of eyes, and the blind should be ashamed of those that do.They could say theyâve seen pictures, but they would need to escape their heavy lungs, put away the glade and go to the source of itâs scent, where itâs said to have come from. Miss the chemicals, and find the smell of freshness in itâs truest form. How do they continue to breathe knowing theyâre missing something so much greater, that their lives, their perspectives on everything could change in seconds if they took some time to change where they were standing. I shudder to think people could stay home, solitary. The to and from of job to home with the inbetweens of the mall they've been to hundreds of times on the way to pick up coffee, only once changing it during fall, but every fall itâs just the same, every spring it goes back to being as it was before. If they counted the times theyâve done the same thing, said the same thing, remet the same people, and drank the same coffee would they see it? Would they see what theyâve wasted? Could they find the courage to take a bus to wherever it was going, somewhere outside of this lonely little city? Could they find it in themselves to admit, while comfortable, they are not content? I worry for these lonely people, and myself. What if they have always felt as I do, but when I step foot into the airport, ready to leave, I feel all of their fear. What if I become them? The daily back and forth of a life where each day is exactly the same, and life barely moves. It drags on, and the repetitive days pass so quickly I look in the mirror and question who I am seeing? But what if I am not afraid. I hope that I am not afraid.
