I am the Writer, the carver of time

What is it about fatherhood that makes me so envious and spiteful, yet in the same breath laugh on all those who have one? Why do I crave it and in the same motion swat it away? What is that connection I feel. Not to the one whom I came from. I have no desire, no connection. Yet when I see others, I see this electricity that attaches one to two, the first and then the second. Anywhere in a room, anywhere in the world this electricity can stretch to. I have that, but no receiver.

I have this want, but the photo you show, I have no need. He already had a backup plan, a backup son. Firstborn used to mean something. Firstborns were supposed to be sheltered. I was left at a shelter. Through rain and sun, watching miracles pass by. I played catch with brick walls. I watched the sun rise and fall honestly. I lied to you, just as much as you lied to me. I painted with other men. I tutored them too. I raised the rain and sunk the stars. I built worlds with friends who no longer remember me or the times we shared. I remember you. Beard prickles, onions burnt. WrestleMania on a use-by-date bed. I was bed splits and spat on. I was congested. I am the one to turn to when I need a turn. I am both the yelled at, and the yeller. I was scorned and are scorned. I am hard done by.

And in all my obstacles I never asked for you. I only ever asked for the truth. Defog my glasses and let me see. And I know exactly who you claim to be. I know your arguments like a chess board. Automations on an answering machine. I knew you before you knew yourself. I know your kind. I analyze day and night. I can see the sky through your eyes. I know how you people think, I know how you move, I know how you walk, I know how you eat. I know your true intentions; I know in which matter you speak. I arrived to you healthy and clean, I left you hungry and weak. A sleep deprived sacrificial lamb. You roasted me up for meat.

No one has ever met you. You’re a smorgasbord board of lies. A hero of fairy tales never told, for they were never written. Not because they were too old or too dull. They were never immortalized; because they, like you, never existed. Could never be depended upon.

As you read, your wound deepens, and mine closes and heals. Know this. There was a point in time where the answers to your questions satisfied that hole you feel. Yet that hole was ignored just like me. And know this. Those you chose, did not choose you for the same reasons as me. They chose you out of greed. They chose you, for as much as you think you chose them, or granted them permission. They swindled you, they chose you. You and your wallet full of cash. You and your bank accounts. You and your insecurities. You are your very own exploitations.

They chose you, just like me. But my answers to this test are not the same. I thought they were. Until I sat back and thought.

I care not of your money or façade of wealth. I now know the purpose of this web. To learn and construct anew. I am the plaster for the damaged wall. I am the fixer of things. And I am the one whom my number two, three and four, will call upon. And I will be there. Just as the eagle is there when the mountain calls. I am the free fall of judgement, and I will not land. I will fly. Fly higher than you. Fly higher than you could ever see.

I am not you. Nor will I ever struggle not to be. I am me. In all my forms. I am death and rebirth. I am fun and pain. I am the house of balloons that sets us free. I am distraction to torment; I am a shimmer of light in the darkest depths of the iris. I am the Writer, the carver of time. I am the pink lizard, and the hand who feeds it. I am the infatuation with the other. I am the dream that ends too quickly. I am the attempts to fall back in.

This is how it will be. I release me of you, and you of me. I write, I clean, I listen. I dive, I sleep, I glisten. I rise above the demons you attached to me. I rise below the trickery. I will not run. I will not hide. When your time comes, I will not invite you inside.

For all your torment, I have shed blood. For all your promises, I have bled tears. No diamond is bloodier than the crystallized drop from innocent eyes.

I am the cat call. The warning in the dark. Wake up, wake up. Our time is about to start.

I am the Writer, the carver of time.