by The Cowl Editor on November 18, 2021
AJ Worsley ’22
get down on your knees
rub your face across the grass
tickle your cheek with excitement,
you feel something.
drive to the water, one hand on the wheel, your other is holding on to life.
you haven’t felt alive in a minute.
the skylines reek of hope but you never drive there, you stay in your comfort zone because it’s easier to joke about yourself than to fix the things you joke about.
but you’re never actually joking are you?
you’re genuine. you’re hurtful. you’re hateful.
you’re a bad person, if not to anyone but yourself.
so grab a cloud and put it in your pocket,
save it for a rainy day when you can ride it like a wave.
climb a mountain and accept defeat.
close that social media app, you’re far too comfortable in your loneliness to be here.
break your rear view in the process of getting that mask on your face.
you don’t know where your soul is or where it belongs but right now it isn’t where it needs to be. you need a new spot. a new playlist. a new love.
you’re aware of the things that make you happy but you don’t grant yourself access to those things because you’ve convinced yourself you don’t deserve them.
kiss the grass and bite it. love the earth you’ve been given while you’re down there, but when you come up, climb that tree and look down on a world who has put you at the bottom of the list.
don’t expect to be others’ first choice when you can’t even put yourself first.
you are small and inconvenient. make mistakes and forgive yourself for them. don’t dwell. you aren’t here long enough to dwell.
let lightning scare you, and love that fear but don’t let it last forever.
so much world you want to see but you can’t even make it out of your own head.
it’s the window that reminds you of a portal. or the staircase that takes you from one life to another. the door. the change you seek but never acquire.
listen to your elders but never let them try to control you. shave your head if you’d like. identity is whatever you want it to be.
it’s hard to share your thoughts, your words that you hate, the creative vision in a world that’s already created your idea. you are not original. you are the first to ever put those words together.
the truth is, there are no rules so there cannot be a rule book. your God wants you to love, but if your God is dead then be your own God and remind those around you that life is constructed by something greater.
we don’t know what comes next so the present is not something to reject. modernity is a beast, let’s come together and put it on a leash.
death is far more feared than that lightning, but kiss the grass that grows in spring, and find comfort in the life that awaits you when the life leaves your body.
pass me the telescope dripping with nostalgia so i can watch her dancing on the moon from my car parked by the beach.
the seasons will always change. they did before your time and they will continue to after your time here. see the world. respect your God, deny tradition.
you have the time. you have the energy. you have the love. you have the life.
you tell me you couldn’t imagine your life without me,
i urge you to try a little harder.