i’ve been away

i

hey

i’ve been away

from myself

from my paper

from my pen

from my sacred den

i’ve been betraying myself

putting all my faith in the paper lock i put on the door of my den

i was told i have to leave

i had left

not because i was told by those unaware how beautiful my den is

and how messy their den is

i left because

my den is really really beautiful

and it’s no use for me

if it’s not use to others

and i’ve been so far gone

my den sits atop a hill so far from everything

so far from everyone

and i’m walking back from it

putting all my faith in the paper lock i made

from a 17th century geometry book

containing someone’s notes

yet no sketches

not some messy lines

not one scribble

just math notes on some pages

they are full now

telling the story of my journey to my sacred den

built atop the seed of the forbidden apple

that got me banished from the garden of eve

the long walk

the many reactions

from both my demons and my angels

from god himself, my father

many faces i saw on my face

many fractures i had

many herbs i collected

many stars made their own den above mine

many

mes i came in contact with

many senses i made sense with

many mysteries i solved them with

i'm on my way back

i came with my head on the ground

i'm going back with it straight

looking the parts of me i may have lost

dropped

forgotten

but this time i'm searching myself up there

the feathers i shed descending from the heavens

this time i'm not looking at my impact

i'm looking at my fall

in a perfect world i wouldn't have a lock at all

not because i'm afraid someone would break in

simply because it won't be as tempting to see what's in it without a lock

just like my father

just like how he sealed my fate when he forbid me the apple

causing me to taste it

in a perfect world i would come back to my den

and find the remnants of a healed world

golden hair on the red cushions

the dying orange embers in the fireplace

now alive in the body of someone with golden hair

feeding that golden hair

in a perfect world

the 17th century geometry book of mine would tell the story of the arrival of my golden haired self

and they would be so inextinguishable that i couldn't tell which is mine

in a perfect world there would be hundreds of reminders everywhere i looked

everywhere i looked

every path i traversed

that i'm a nobody

cause i'm everything