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Predetermined and decided We are told we have one path Disguised behind false doors They all lead to the same. Live in that same town, with those same friends. Take those same pictures with the same family, working the same job settling for the same workaholic. Dying alone in the same nursing home generations before did. The hallways of my school are choking. Filled with the beautiful, the meek, the smart. I do not look up to them, yet I look down at my shoes. Judgement rains down even when I hold up my umbrella. And so I decided, I realized. Someone, whoever molded the planets, and shaped the hills. Whoever painted in my freckles and colored my hair, that force, that feeling- is trying to tell me something. An uncontrollable force draws me to the clock. 6:11 7:11 8:11 9:11 10:11 11:11. Like a grandfather clock that strikes after ten, I see the numbers etched in my mind. Coincidences that aren’t coincidences, scenes racing by my head. My life is not a movie but I view it as such. Anayzling the characters and their troubles, ulterior motives and end goals. Our paths, what are they? And though the illusion of choice dims the eyes of most I can see clearly. I must pick the truth. The truth is my hair is pink. My nose pierced, my mouth gay. My legs wild and my spirit free. I am not tied to those who ground me. Invisible ropes tied to my ankles I’m cutting them. Running loose, away. Away from the mirrors, the washing machines. The small towns, the big towns. The backpacks and liars, truthers and criers. My bag packed lightly, my nerves high but soul settled. And maybe, this wasn’t my path. The path decided by the greater universe. But the truth, the truth was hinted by the maker of trees. Sculpter of ocean cliffs. I chose the truth. The truth to speak my mind. To run free, to skip town. To skip class. To find that dragging force that opens my eyes every morning. I can’t see it, or hear its calls. But I smell it. Adventure and troubles, love and stupidity. And destiny. The shimmering scent of destiny. The truth doesn’t lie behind your path. You must leave the trail to find that.
0
Mar 11
Mar 11, 2026 at 10:21 PM UTC
the path and the the truth
Predetermined and decided We are told we have one path Disguised behind false doors They all lead to the same. Live in that same town, with those same friends. Take those same pictures with the same family, working the same job settling for the same workaholic. Dying alone in the same nursing home generations before did. The hallways of my school are choking. Filled with the beautiful, the meek, the smart. I do not look up to them, yet I look down at my shoes. Judgement rains down even when I hold up my umbrella. And so I decided, I realized. Someone, whoever molded the planets, and shaped the hills. Whoever painted in my freckles and colored my hair, that force, that feeling- is trying to tell me something. An uncontrollable force draws me to the clock. 6:11 7:11 8:11 9:11 10:11 11:11. Like a grandfather clock that strikes after ten, I see the numbers etched in my mind. Coincidences that aren’t coincidences, scenes racing by my head. My life is not a movie but I view it as such. Anayzling the characters and their troubles, ulterior motives and end goals. Our paths, what are they? And though the illusion of choice dims the eyes of most I can see clearly. I must pick the truth. The truth is my hair is pink. My nose pierced, my mouth gay. My legs wild and my spirit free. I am not tied to those who ground me. Invisible ropes tied to my ankles I’m cutting them. Running loose, away. Away from the mirrors, the washing machines. The small towns, the big towns. The backpacks and liars, truthers and criers. My bag packed lightly, my nerves high but soul settled. And maybe, this wasn’t my path. The path decided by the greater universe. But the truth, the truth was hinted by the maker of trees. Sculpter of ocean cliffs. I chose the truth. The truth to speak my mind. To run free, to skip town. To skip class. To find that dragging force that opens my eyes every morning. I can’t see it, or hear its calls. But I smell it. Adventure and troubles, love and stupidity. And destiny. The shimmering scent of destiny. The truth doesn’t lie behind your path. You must leave the trail to find that.
“It’s so rare, that somebody’d look out for you (look out for you, look out for you).”
leyalied
Written by
15/F/the upside down
Mar 11
Mar 11, 2026 at 10:21 PM UTC
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