I just want to let go.
I just want to yell.
And close my eyes and dream.
Dream about anything but reality. Dream about a world far beyond this gloomy square.
Your words transform into chains that hold me down.
Your screams of Inequality.
Your yells of Stereotypes.
Your dreams of Superiority.
To dream about escaping this reality in which time stays still, in both
But undoubtedly not the Future.
The clock's hands are starting to circle around. Whether it be the hour hand, the minute hand, or the second hand, it is moving nevertheless.
Time is no longer on your side because the world is finally starting to move and my feet are off the ground.
Racing forward towards the future with my hands reaching out before me.
I unceasingly move forward with no regret in my steps.
Your words no longer hold me back but do the opposite instead. If this is so, why do I feel as if I am still left behind?
The words I release, as you go on ahead, leave behind a permanent trail.
As if they were drawn on the wall with sharpies, in the grasp of a hand in which is irrefutably mine.
The words gradually increase until I can't stop the hole in the dam.
Until I don’t want to stop.
Until it's impossible to stop.
Because I finally feel like I can breathe.
The walls break down but I am inevitably at the center of the destruction.
Trapped in the rubble, unable to break through yet another barrier.
The sun will rise and the moon will fall.
The leaves will yellow while the snow descends.
The laundered clothes placed on the rack will shrivel up.
All the while, the waxed floors will be layered by my neglect.
My words will slowly retract and come back to me as they are left behind and I advance ahead. The awakened monster within me will breathe and the one outside the walls will retreat temporarily.
To break down the walls you must first accept them.
The walls on which one day in the future I will climb and break from the outside.
Break in a world where the voices of inequality are silenced, and I am free.
But in time we will both catch up to each other, with our hands side by side.
Not one before,
and not one behind.
The lined up dominoes which were once aligned have been tipped over by my own words. As the chain reaction of the fallen comes to an end, it marks the start of a new game that awaits its preordained fall.