The uncertainty of the future was always tempered by my certainty of the present, maybe I did not know what I would do next year but I knew there was a safe place now to hide. Us teenagers are unstable creatures, but I always had something to hold onto. But now my roots have become a rock- hard and cold, where I lie naked in anticipation of some hawk to tear out my liver and devour it whole. That was Prometheus’ punishment for bringing light to the world and yet I fear I have brought none. But still my liver regenerates every night and the hawks return to rip me to shreds. Not pretty enough, not skinny enough, grades aren’t high enough, not fun enough, not what I could/should be. The hawks are me and the hawks are her and the hawks are every beautiful actress and every brilliant politician and everyone who ever wrote a pretty verse for others to read.
The hawks are everything I am and everything I wish I was and everything I will never become because of my own limitations. And while I still pull at these chains to get off this rock, the pain has become so common-place, so friendly in its pointedness that I no longer scream but laugh instead. Laugh because I am the architect of my own destruction, laugh because I could have stopped it and fought as you threw the chains around my wrist but I did not, laugh because I wanted to be so much more but only now see my hopes as childish dreams of a naïve mind.
Mostly, I laugh because what else can you do when stuck between a rock and a hard place? You can cry or laugh and I’m still too proud to let the tears come.