OBLIVIA

 

He knew love,

He felt love,

But he knew that he was too young to express love.

When he was a little boy, he thought that he was special,

He thought that he was a beautiful boy.

Everyone thought it was funny and told him that

He was handsome, not beautiful.

He still believed he was beautiful and special,

That the whole world was a story in which he was

The principal character.

In junior high school he wore glasses for the first time

To school and Teacher called him windscreen.

He cried because he thought his glasses were beautiful

And the perfect size but Teacher, whose opinion mattered the most;

Whose every word was a dose of wisdom,

Whose every word bore as much importance

As the bricks that would build his future,

Thought it was bullshit.

He tried to hide when he cried

But when the boys caught him,

They called him WOMAN WRAPPER.

By the time he believed that he was old enough

To express love,

Love had already died a thousand deaths

From stabs by the very same people he thought

Were the embodiments of love.

Between being called windscreen and eighteen,

He learned that love was wrong.

He learned that love was a thing that made you dumb

In the eyes of the world,

Love was something that you could get killed for.

When he was old enough to form opinions,

The first opinion he formed was that his life

Was no more than a withered, dry leaf

Floating in the wind.

When he was old enough to form opinions,

He wrote in a journal;

“Do you ever wish that you never existed?

That the whole concept of existentialism

And life never had so much importance?

That creation or evolution never happened,

That oblivion would save you from all the

Hurt of existing and bring you to sweet,

Everlasting unconsciousness,

Help you forget how to forget and remember

Because then you do not know what anything is

Because you are basking in the comfort of

Never knowing, never feeling, never seeing,

Or hearing or smelling?

How glorious that would be!”

He thought of the possibility of the existence of

Other worlds where lights and consciousness and hiding

Were not needed at all.

Tonight, he shall go to the riverside

And board the faceless captain’s boat

And sail across the black river to the other side,

The world of perpetual darkness

And never-ending oblivion.