second year jake head

I remember another version of myself, bathed in glitter, laughing on the recess field with wood chips in my hair and joy in my eyes. We read books of fantasy; every day a new one under the covers with the flashlight pointed down. We sang at the top of our lungs, danced like elves running barefoot through the woods;
Then, something seemed to rot within us. They kept telling us things, things they thought would help us, making demands we hadn't considered before :
“You have to make money”
“You need to stand up straight”
“Do as you’re told and dress for your gender”
“Try to be practical”
Command after command whittled us down to sticks: uniform matches in a matchbox ready to strike. They siphoned away our creativity and replaced it with pressure. We stopped singing, painting, holding each other; we started worrying about biology, statistics, finance, making enough money to buy a nice bright house & a shiny, silver car. Drudged down with the impositions and projections of our tormented and regretful parents--brains clogged and anxious, filled with things not of substance, but of doubt.
Please look up from your contemporary stupor. Don’t think so much about the people looking down from above-- about the shoes on your feet or the notes that you take. I am trying daily to return to a childlike joy, a joy of recess and wood chips and laughter and art,

Ignoring the ennui of a rushing, modern campus,

Striving to find my stride amongst doubt & falseness,

Listening to my intuition and

To those who have love for me in their hearts.

Recess