I want to be with you but you’ve got too many damn rules.
You’ve built too many fences. Not the white-picket kind or the kind that you put up to protect your dreams but the barbed-wired, sliced hands, ‘stay the hell back or I’m pulling the trigger’ kind.
You’ve got too many routines and regulations. Too many dietary restrictions. Your life is squeezed into the thin line between safe and suffocation.
Your words are tied with “had” and “have” knots… Thick and twisted. Harsh to the touch.
Your sentences are separated with pessimistic pauses. Your eyes are draped in disbelief and disillusion.
You’re beautiful but you’ve wrapped a mask around your wounds. Sutured your scars with someone else’s scalpel.
You’ve been artificially inseminated with the mediocre mindset of those that came before you.
So this fairly tale won’t end nicely.
Because rules and dreams don’t mix together.
Fear and love don’t play well in the sandbox. One sets limits the other destroys them. One avoids edges the other enjoys them. Define vs. defy. Fall or let fly…
The path to our passion cannot be found with our feet anchored to the pavement.
You have to rise further to see farther. Step up, up and away from comfortable, and create your own course in the sky. Touch the top of your imagination.
Summon your own superpowers.
You have to rebel against yourself. Tell your distrust to disappear. Drag your doubts by the neck and toss them into the tiny cracks that they crawled from.
Force as many out-of-body experiences as necessary for you to realize you’re bigger than the cage you’ve kept for yourself.
You have to erase everything THEY told you, break anything that holds you, and free yourself from the false formula that molds you…
Turn your head from the spoon they try to feed you.
Because it can’t work if I have to make you believe in make believe. Convince you that “reality” is just a polite way of saying “I’m scared.” And “supposed to” is just the nice way of stating “I’m stranded.”
We have to lose our laws, or give up our cause.
Protest with every agreement we made to ourselves. Talk back to time, and stand up to temptation.
Take our hands off each other so we can stand on our own feet.
Rewrite our own story.
Because “real” is what we make it. And “rules” are how we fake it. And Love is a dirty word that bleeds until we break it.
And then… once shattered and shaken. Once beaten into naked pieces. Bare with the birthmarks of our soul…
Stained with the ugly truth.
Then, we can pick up the promises off the floor. And wipe the lies off the carpet. And look each other straight in the eyes and say,
“I was broken, so I broke us…. But now, I’m ready to build together.”