Escape
On a bright summer’s day, the bodybuilder achieved his lifelong dream, winning the prestigious title of “World’s Strongest Man.”
His competitors, who had dedicated their lives to tearing and re-tearing their bodies, stared in amazement. The man’s body was a marvel, shredded to pieces and rebuilt from scratch thousands of times over the years, a testament to his hard work, a manifestation of his determination. And over the years, it became sculpted to perfection.
The man posed on the dais as if his image proved the existence of a grand designer. The crowds gawked and awed and clapped. The man smiled at the attention, he craved it; it pushed him to work harder, lift heavier, and spend longer nights at the gym, his temple.
Afterward, the reporters swarmed in, prodding their microphones in his face, asking for a quote. “What’s your secret to success?” they asked, clawing past one another for a few sage words. “Is it determination? Is it drive? Perseverance, perhaps? Or maybe persistence? Tell us,” they seemed all say in unison, “tell us your secret.”
The bodybuilder had no answers to give. He had no wisdom to share, no words of motivation. The reporters were relentless, craving the secrets of the universe like beggars, thinking it were easy. There was no recipe to a happy life, no formula to instant fame and riches. And if there was, it couldn't be told. It had to be lived.
So the bodybuilder responded the only way he knew how: with the truth.
With a polite smile, he said, “There is no secret. My body is the result of years of hard work. It is the result of many hours sacrificed, through relationships and heartache, through personal struggle and hopelessness, through countless unmotivated days and countless nights of soul-searching.
“But, above all else, there is one thing that pushed me forward to where I am today.”
The microphones came closer. The reporters' faces grew more eager. They elbowed in, clawing for a better camera angle.
“Tell us. Tell us. Tell us,” they said, like a pack of lustful hyenas surrounding a lion. “Tell us the secret. What’s the secret?”
The bodybuilder paused, and the room fell dead silent. “I began working out at the age of fifteen. I was clueless, lost. There was nobody to teach me, to guide me, to point me in the right direction. But those were the little problems, and they were fixed naturally. The secret to my success was emotional. The gym was my church, where I'd pray, where I'd find peace. The release became my escape.
“All throughout my youth, my parents fought. Daily, they yelled and bickered. Sometimes it was insults, sometimes they threw plates, sometimes fists. There was tension, and there were tears. The memories will forever be unforgettable, and the acts unforgivable. At times, it seemed like my parents wanted to kill one another. Other times, they actually tried.
“When I was fifteen, I made myself two promises. I promised to always better myself in hopes of finding happiness, and I promised to remove all the toxic people bringing me down. After that, every time momma smashed a plate, or papa threw a punch, I’d go to the gym and never look back.
“It was my escape.”
Here you sit, an old man contemplating his lonely life
Thinking of the fond memories you once cherished
You aspired to do so much, desperate to change a world in strife
But your years left you behind, and all alone you drowned and perished
You think of the time when you were once a child
The world was easy, and time did not apply
Armed with imagination, days passed and you ran wild
Your soul was a pyre, stacked up all the way to the sky
Adrenaline you craved, and for excitement, you yearn
After all, you’re just a young teen
Your future unknown and your life to burn
Soon your thrill will die, and in its place will stand routine.
Your teen days flew by, integration through desperation
Imagination slowly dies, but you keep your hopes and dreams
Soon you find yourself working merely to prevent starvation
How did you turn, from an individual into a machine?
Your life becomes dull and dreary People become a bore
When excitement becomes weary Living becomes a chore
Expression your mind craves But words your mouth lacks
To our mindless thoughts we’re all slaves But only through words, can our thoughts climax
So find your voice, and channel your inner flame
Find that child to whom you once said goodbye
Because the moment your life becomes tame
Your soul will wither and your flame will die.
What is this feeling that clenches me so tight
A fatiguing happiness that must be suppressed
The look in her eyes, and the smile on her lips
There is comfort in the uncomfortable
I’m numb with joy, and I’m sick of it
Something unknown is in control
Like a virus searching for a host
Like a child lost in the world
My happiness has no home
It must be put to the test
My love for you is
All that is left
But that too
Must
End
To some, it comes easy
to me not so much
This may sound a bit cheesy
but I mess up everything I touch.
Friendships here and there
I sit in discontent
and glare with despair
at something I can't prevent
I doodle a small rhyme
to not feel so alone
but deep down it's a sign
I live in monotone.
But a small rhyme becomes two
and then two becomes four
soon my poem takes shape
and I don't need rhymes anymore.
I find my rhythm fluid
and then comes the kick
my poem turns dark
and I become a cynic.
I become critical of everything and everyone.
Why do some experience sadness, where others see fun?
In solitude, I sit, isolated I hide.
Everyone is different, but they all seem unified.
This poem is kind of silly
but sometimes silly is good
I feel sometimes like I'm really
just misunderstood.