number twenty five.

I don’t want to be ashamed of anything I do or anything I think. That has been a problem, a strange one at that. Why is it so wrong to question, to reach for the sky, to do a little dance? We are all so inhibited, so structured, so controlled by societal expectations. There are no outlets, only boundaries for who we can be, who we must be. It’s very difficult to be young and creative, because the world doesn’t want to hear it. They don’t think it is possible. They think we are trying to emulate what happened first, what was raw and real. The ideas that bled, helplessly, fluidly, overwhelmingly from previous generations. I hate that, hate that there are no longer communities but overgrown cliques living out their high school dreams and nightmares on urban pavement. How can we be supportive of others when we, ourselves, have no room to grow? How can we become actualized beings when all signs show the likelihood as unlikely?