The world is extremely too loud some days.
Some days, I think I should have walked with Thoreau and Emerson with tranquility of fabricated nature posing as peace. Although, I believe peace can be found in nature. I am not one to hold to literal escapism, because frankly I need my phone. Yes, I am that generation who envisions their qwerty keyboards as old typewriter keys when writing poems. The world is too loud for me today. Every chomp and chew. Every “go this way” and “go that way” barely leaves with me enough time to sigh in anguish how I haven’t done enough. I nearly couldn’t find time to get lunch.
“You have plenty of time to decide”, they say. All the while, I am being pushed into a closet with cardboard boxes that have labels that do not match the items actually in them. I am escorted into a swanky classroom, where we must shed blood before our professors to prove “yes I am still breathing.” “No, I think this analysis doesn’t need corrections, because I cannot fix all of the corrections within myself.” These are things you cannot say in a workshop class.
The world is too loud. I read literature, poetry and the back of cereal boxes. I write in my journal that a brown eyed boy should not have that much power for a young woman to be distracted in her studies. His looks ain’t paying the tuition.
Sometimes, I cannot stay where the people are. Sometimes, I look for the treasured empty place, where nothing but the birds call to one another. In this place, I can sit with my phone in hand and take a picture for later usage. I do not want to hear that I am not this or that enough. I do not want the impression of a hand slamming me back down to the height I was in the second grade – simply because I don’t follow everyone’s path.
The world is too loud. I want quiet. I want quiet like an old man who is trying to sleep on the second floor of an apartment complex, but his neighbor right above him blares the riffraff of the TV at one am.