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Mishti M

Abstract Crime Others

3  

Mishti M

Abstract Crime Others

To Hope is to Risk

To Hope is to Risk

2 mins
243


The big secret is that

as much as we 

posture and pose,

we plan, predict, 

proactively produce.

Play pretend.


We’re all afraid.

We’re all lonely.

We’re all wanting to be

taken care of, 

noticed.


We think the more we 

polish our faces and 

promise ourselves

with the mantra of the day

that we’ll feel a certain way,

we all feel like imposters


Like we were called and 

maybe that person meant 

to call someone else. 

Like we were given space,

but maybe they meant to fill it

with someone else.

People make mistakes.

Maybe you were mistakenly 

chosen. Maybe it’s all a joke,

and you’re the punchline.

Everyone’s laughing,

and you can’t find your

voice.


Geez.

Doesn’t that suck?


Doesn’t it flipping stink that

we’re such jerks to ourselves?

Sometimes I want to scream,

because people can’t see 

how beautiful and so utterly 

abounding with light they are.


But then I go home 

and realize that I’ve had blinders

on myself. I can’t see myself,

the entire world is 20/20,

and there’s a speck of dust 

obstructing my vision.


But can I tell you that despite

it all, I hope. Or I try to hope.


I know that hope is a risk,

and to give up, give in,

give myself the worst of it,

it would be easier, 

more dramatic.

But to hope is to risk, 

to look up, to open doors

and step out, even though 

we’re all fleshy, dough balls

of human beings, and who 

knows what could happen.


But we hope.

Because somewhere deep

within us, somewhere all

around us, in the specific

colors layering the sky, 

the individual drops of rain

tearing through the clouds,

the incredible way we could

all look at the same thing and

see vastly different things,


the secret that we’re all avoiding 

is we’re all chosen 

to be exactly this.


And we avoid it,

because to be chosen

is to be accepted for all

the glittery, happy parts 

of us, along with 

the cruddy,

ugly parts of us.


And that sounds 

impossible.

And it does. 

My logic scoffs 

at the thought of it. 

My mind fears 

the possibility of it. 

But my heart, 

it longs 

for the truth of it.


My heart hopes.


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