Synkyria

Fortuitous coincidences have better handwriting than I do.

[synkyria]

Anomaly

That’s what I am. That’s what the world wants me to be. Have this in mind: if you are not born social, you will always be socially doomed. Or maybe I’m just projecting my loneliness on this paper.

Am I broken? They say everything that goes up has to go down, so why can’t I stay up? I have been down so much even darkness knows my name. Waiting for me, lying in her velvet despair, drowning me with her soothing flesh and warm embrace that opens inside me, inebriating and intoxicating the depths of my core, all to see my heart; beating, squirming… bleeding. Even now, when I’m so close to the shore of greatness. The good thing about it is that it gets easier to bear, but do people really see that? Do they see the strong woman who carved and molded herself to be "her"? To be happy? They don’t. The monster of Frankenstein was described as perfect and he was still called a monster. Before he even had a chance, he was socially doomed. Edward Cullen was a stalker, but it doesn't stop people from glazing the "hot" vampire that fell in love with a teenage Bella; the epitome of true love, supposedly, more than Romeo and Juliet. And I… I am a teenager. Heck, can I even call myself that? The world calls me an adult even though I’m not eighteen. I am someone who studied social cues because I wasn't born social. And after having friendships, beloveds, breakups… After changing my hair, my style, my clothes, my hobbies… I. I still. And I will always still be called those awful, awful and gross names. A weirdo. A freak. I prefer the term "anomaly" because with how hypocritical the world is, I prefer to think I’m not from here. Something unnatural that’s never been seen before. Does that solve it? No. Do I still hate everyone? Maybe… No. Actually, yeah, I do. Some wear masks afraid of becoming Frankenstein's monster, practicing kindness like a script, hurting others Hurting themselves. Others don’t need masks. They are monsters, loved like Edward Cullen. I despise that. But oh well, who cares? Thankfully I’m not part of that group. After all, there is a word that describes me better: "Anomaly." That’s what I am.

-Συγκυρία

[synkyria]

Envy

A sin I commit every time I breathe, but not of people. I envy the birds who can be on survival mode and look for new horizons at the same time, feeling the breeze on their feathers and knowing that they are alive.

While I'm here, on the ground, on survival mode and feeling anything but alive, having to follow the social cues because I can't fly away when something feels off.

I envy the clouds, who can cry away their sorrow and people understand them; but if I bottle up my sadness until I break, I'm a crybaby, I'm naive, too sensitive.

I envy the sky, feeling beautiful in all its colors; so precious like a jewel, protagonist in thousands of masterpieces. They don't have to adapt to beauty standards, not fat, not skinny, or have to cover their beauty because it looks like a slut, or uncover it because they're a nun.

The sky only gets brighter and brighter every year, but it doesn't do this alone; I envy the sun who shines and everyone recognizes as a star, burning the skin of those who can't take it; even if you don't like them, the day they are missing, the beach trip you planned is ruined.

They don't get 25 to life if they defend themselves… or for spreading cancer on people, which I personally think is a cool power.

I envy them with all my heart. I know it's petty because none of whom I mentioned are perfect, but the real reason behind my envy is that they are free.

I'm stuck in this prison called "being human", where I'm bound to look at the sky searching for an answer. With problems that seem huge… and then, there is the other perspective: the birds, the clouds, the sun, and the sky all look from above thinking, "That's a weird human sitting on the roof, looking at us."

I follow people because I feel lost and lonely. For them, people just look like ants in a row without a purpose or a goal. Tiny, insignificant… stupid animals who don't know nothing but follow whom they think knows what it's doing… They hardly ever do know.

My only solace is that one way or another I will fly, whether it is studying to earn the years of the view before retiring at 70, or the seconds of breeze kissing my face, feeling the shivers of adrenaline running through my spine before making contact with the asphalt.

-Συγκυρία