un día malo

I don’t care what people think anymore. If they think I am crazy perhaps they are right in their assumptions. I will not argue with them. The hardest to do however, is to cease arguing with myself. Maybe I am crazy. I still breath in the air that gets blown by autumn’s scenery. I begin each day like any other but manifest into something greater for I am greater. Haughtiness is not my sin. I explode in the sky. People stop their cars. They cross the street to get a better look. And in the cool night sky there I am for part of the world to see. For a second, for the moment it takes you to glimpse at an unsuspecting girl, I am there. And in that moment no one can object me. No one can accuse me. I am free in the sky and within bounds of my mind. But I come down slow on to the ground of these mortals. And they stab my hands into a tree for all to see. Once again I am for all eyes. My sin is to love and revoking it would do no good if I were even capable. They slap me with insults, and tear my clothes off with their eyes of suspicion. “You!” they say. And I am bound and gagged by these restrictions. If I could change it and go—do as I please. These on looking eyes would never see me again. I would run to the cliffs. I would dive off into the ocean, and I would be in that night sky again. They come like lemmings, confessing their love is true as well. But it is not! And they would fall into the foamy deep abyss below. I’d smile and continue to that place where my heart is meant to be. With the same skies, the same dirt, and the same blades of grass; I would reach out to the one that I love. And questions of sanity I asked, would be gone like the wretched souls that dove off that cliff, looking for love like I. I am neither sane nor crazed. I am but myself. I am in love. The question is who are you?