the beekeeper.

distract, detain, disassociate.

obsession:
it's a ladder from hell to earth,
and no one knows whether it goes up or down.
for one it could be an escape from the terrible facts of reality,
to others a first class ticket to heartache and piss poor choices.
somewhere in this gradient,
i lay in a constant disposition.

my obsession is, by definition, unhealthy.
the history, the folklore-
i live and breathe for it.
through my day, i dream of it.
in the night, i read scholar's interpretations of it.
and all of these efforts,
all of this time,
is utilized as an escape from this blasphemous universe i was born into.

i strive to be a true patriotic man-
a genuine captain america that doesn't actually exist.
i want to be a figure of my own imagination:
a cartoon deity that embodies a whole country.
i ridicule myself for this longing.
i ridicule myself for this need.

but his life seems much simpler,
much happier than my terrifying realm.

he kisses the one he loves in the nighttime,
and he has no shame for it.
he loves unconditionally,
and he fears nothing.
his eyes are both the pacific and atlantic;
his breath is of bravery and of determination.

yes, i strive to be such a man.
i strive to love in the nighttime,
work in the daytime,
live not just in the gaps of my exhilarating schedule.

this hero,
this magnetic, electric, illuminating man,
he speaks to me in dreams and paragraphs.
we're connected by our shared arrogance;
we're sewn together with the thread of curiosity and impulsiveness.

i obsess over this mirage.
i strive for his life,
for his bravery,
for his love.

and in this obsession,
i lose faith in becoming my own individual person,
because i would rather believe the lie of being a patriotic godsend
than live the life of a brain-smoothie fuck up.