Held high. in The Wanderer

They walked around with their heads held high and I wondered how did they do it. It was as if the clouds had disappeared for the rest of the world and I saw things no one else did. Or maybe I just felt them. And I let myself feel every truth the world spat out and I let it sink in. I knew what was reality and they shook their heads and called me a pessimist. The days grew to years and suddenly I was the old one marching along to someone else’s drum beat. My head has been hung low for many years, and I always stay quiet and accepting. Hurting, but obliging. I drink most nights and my voice gets a bit loud to those who are there to listen, listen and shake their heads and call me a pessimist. I’ve found some sort of niche and I’ve learned it’s not difficult at all. It’s not hard to move on from one niche to another. In the end they are all the same. People aren’t much different from one place to the next. I prefer animals, but how can one not? You do things to survive. You get from point A to point B and realize you are still doing the same thing. Moving around. Serving plates to people. Cleaning up trash. Smiling that fake smile that has somehow turned into chronic bitch face…realizing that even your fake smile has gone to shit. Realizing that so many things have gone to shit. Or maybe always has been shit. Or maybe you’ve been striving for something that just will never actually exist. Something that people make up and believe and go walking around with their heads held high because all they can do is lie their way to optimism and it’s just something that you will never be able to do…the truth is always so much more profound.