Maslow's Needs

How many live within four walls? 

So much has happened within mine that they now bow with exhaustion from the vibrations of endless laughter,

the dampness of salty water,

the hours and hours of fiery pleasure,

the cheerful calls when the doors fly open,

 the scents of each new dish casually constructed with the heat of the oven,

and the moments that will be forgotten for lack of a camera. 

I can honestly say that I don’t just live inside four walls.

How many find someone or something to keep them company? 

Well, I’d love to keep the fingerprints of each living thing that has come across my path. 

There are so many living things who have brought me tears of sadness, and tears of joy. 

There are so many who have accused me of things I did and didn’t do,

and there are so many who have accused me for being something I’m not. 

There are some who have willfully stayed by my side, even after death—

but most have abandoned, betrayed, forsaken, and disgraced me;

and somehow they are the ones I am most thankful for;

they keep me company in my mind.

How many find some sort of nourishment in a day? 

Oh, to be free from the clutches of my physical crutches. 

Since birth I’ve had to rely on a specific support system

where everything had to be carefully considered,

carefully taken care of,

carefully adjusted to the point where I was so strong that I broke. 

My picture perfect lifestyle was torn in fours of twenties,

and has yet to be healed. 

Even now, I’ve reached a point where I don’t want this delicate nutrition anymore;

I don’t want to take part in this cruel game

where the instructions are written in a language that no one understands. 

When asked by my therapist,

“What do you like about yourself?”

I always answer, “My patience;

because one day, this will all be over, and that day could come any day if I wanted it to.”

How many proudly accept their accomplishments? 

Those solid numbers that are delivered to The Fates

who then decide whether our string shall be snipped or if it shall be discarded. 

Solid numbers that if unachieved, we will be labeled

with new numbers that determine our worth.  

Where do these solid numbers come from? 

From the unachievable paradigm

that the world has somehow deduced all must reach in order to be “successfully normal.”

 I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I don’t fit anywhere inside that mold. 

I don’t belong there because my mind,

body,

and my spirit is incapable of functioning according to the societal norm—

and even if it had that sort of power, I wouldn’t want to perform to that expectation

because my being is mine. 

I refuse to allow the hot fingers of self-loathing and self-destruction to wring my heart

as a motivation to be the best and be that last puzzle piece the world wants.

How many have reached their potential? 

Isn’t that all we are full of—potential?

Those solid numbers I personally have attempted to reach,

and embarrassingly failed at in the process. 

With every chance to use one of my three wishes,

I’ve barely met my potential,

and have never been able to truly reach it. 

Many praise me for my efforts, but what if I want to be more than effort? 

What if I want to put in effort and finally taste a breath of what it’s like to fly,

and then be able to fly?  

“Oh well. 

You did your best. 

You’ll get ‘em next time.”

How many can be proud of themselves? 

Look at me. 

Here stands not a human being,

but a vessel of a soul that yearns for freedom and love,

but with a body that tortures itself

by creating the wrong chemicals that prevent me from being able to function on a regular basis—

with anxiety that strikes me with a petrifying fear of the unknown and the known;

with an eating disorder that controls my thoughts and actions

 when surrounded by anything that can be consumed;

with depression that makes my walls,

my surroundings, my resources,

my achievements,

and my potential seem like a never ending cycle of,

 “you need x to be y, but you will never be able to find x or y!” 

Look…at…me…

living every day to try and be a human,

using my effortless skill of putting forth energy that doesn’t exist yet

to be friends with those who love me and those who hate me,

forcing myself to eat foods that I wish I didn’t have to,

and attempting to just be me.

Isn’t that what we all should be? 

You should be you, and I should be me…

the world will never allow it,

but I’m going to be me anyway because even if the world will never need me…

I need me.