Wandering

Wandering

By: Jordan Knudsen

People always say that all who wander are not lost, but I am wandering, and I am lost. When I see people pass by me I ask them to help me. I beg for just the slightest sense of direction, but they just wave me off like a beggar in the streets. Like I am invisible. Maybe I am. Maybe I'm just a specter chained to the sins of man. Doomed to wander alone, with nobody ever noting me. Having to resort to acts of violence in order for the slightest sign of hope. But their initial reaction is to just shun or chastise me, tell me to be quiet or that it was my fault. Now I want them to ignore me. I have learned over the years to be able to survive in silence. To just let my suffering pass through me and into my writing. To just bite down on my pains until I am able to get a pen in my hand and write down everything. But I only recently discovered this new passion. Before this I would just build and build. Wandering through a field of emotions that people just sum up into a single term,

Puberty.

But every experience I have with this gets worse and worse. I become more and more unstable as my days, weeks, and years go by. as my soul slowly rots in this cocoon of pain and unspoken suffering. But out of every cocoon a butterfly emerges. But the caterpillar has to go through the painful process of changing. Maybe once I emerge I will be a butterfly, wings fluttering in the wind. But always having to live in fear of everything around me. Having to hide away every time I stop. Never able to be fully appreciated for the beauty I hold.