I am trapped.

Not like a criminal who deserves their imprisonment or hostages who are held in confinement against their own will. You see, I neither care nor despise my life cell. I am not trapped by mistakes from my past or fear of my future. I am merely trapped by my being. I regretfully decided what would turn out to be my very own bittersweet tragedy. My circumstance is the very pain I love to hate. And what binds me is not a life sentence; there is no beginning or end. It all rests in the body of one word.

Silence.

The chain that binds my mind in a cell, this illusory of truth hold my thoughts hostage and strive to keep my soul what you call stable. If seeing the colors of the world in only black and white is stable, then I accept the instability of viewing the many different shades of grey.

I am aware that the perfect illusion of the black and white society exists. I simply refuse to look over the darkness and reality of the forgotten grey truths. My thoughts, guarded by solitude, are being dragged out by the savages of results and progress. The progress of refusing to compromise and rejecting the openness of an ancient idea called opinion. If not on the color palette, do we limit ourselves to the blending magic of new artistic views for creation? If not already met, do we refuse to accept new acquaintances. If it cannot be yours why can it not be for another? And if it is not understood by some, why is hidden from all? We live in a society screaming that we be ourselves while the dictators of self, watching in the shadows, secretly monitor the self’s of this world to be sure they don’t overcome the status quo.

I am a victim of the irony of a nation proclaimed to possess the freedom to dream, with no rest for those who truly dream bigger than this mediocre land could ever imagine.

We are silent.

So do we freely dream without the unlimited horizon of imagination before us? Or do we imagine an endless horizon of limited dreams. I am trapped because I am a dreamer, I am a thinker and I see everything for the color its worth, not labeled. This word that binds me is a word most people are scared of.

Silence.

How can one be bound to the lack of words, you might ask. Well plainly, I am a mime of thought. I travel the world and observe everything without being able to form a syllable about anything I see, hear or ponder on. I am a voiceless spokesperson for my fellow silent entrepreneurs associated with the revolt of thought. I am forever a slave to my unspoken screams of resentment. If I could only articulate the absurdity I see in every corner of the world. But all I can do, all I’ve ever been able to do is declare these observations on the shredded page; the death of yet another life we overlook. Even with the use of my other pair of communicating instruments, I am participating in the sick acts of the so-called geniuses of this life. I can never escape the pen stroke of my bittersweet tragedy.

I am silent, but not mute.

My silence is the only weapon I possess and someday the silence will breathe the sounds of rebellion and revolt. Dreamers will dream on horizons of endless skies. The theories that define our believed truths will crash and burn in a near sunrise. And the silenced genius’ labeled unstable, will stand on stable platforms and scream the words of all the mimes of thought that have ever existed. Let the mimes of thought scream revolt on the pages of silent freedom.BE SILENT

You are just another soul living amongst the souls in this season of life.

 

 

FOREWARD

THE ONLY LABELS WORTH GIVING ARE:

GIRL.

BOY.

MOTHER.

FATHER.

DAUGHTER.

SON.

LOVER.

GIVER.

WONDERER.

DREAMER.

THINKER.

CREATOR.

INDIVIDUAL.

 

LET YOUR THOUGHTS SCREAM THE ECHOES OF YOUR SOUL ON THE CANVASS OF YOUR CHOOSING.

IN THE MIDST OF CHAOS, BE SILENT.

LET YOUR THOUGHTS SCREAM WORDS OF FREEDOM IN THE ECHOES OF CAPTIVITY.

WHEN ALL THAT EXISTS IS NOISE, PEOPLE WILL LEARN TO LISTEN TO THE PAGES OF SILENCE.

 

BE SILENT.