Blog

At the nadir of the tether, I spin,her finger nudges—imperceptible, yet immense.Compelled, I ascend the string,nearly touching—yet not—the surface of her skin. With a sudden dip of her finger,I spiral downward, to the start.Her motions guide me, a dance of ascent and descent,until, with scissors poised, she contemplates the end. The ambiguity hangs heavier than the cut:Snip.I collide with the ground, still spinning,lost in the echoes of what this might mean.FSF

Thieves parked in an ally waiting and planning the way they will rob their target.

I don’t mind that you took my horse.The banjo? Take it.The pennies in my jar were nothing.But damn you for stealing my illusion;that sense of safety when my eyes shut at night. I never questioned it, until I had to,until it was all I could think about.So, damn you. Damn you deeply.FSF

Thieves of Illusion

You watched 'The Hunger Games' and rooted for the ones in the shadows, &nbsp; the rebels with their arrows and scars, &nbsp; fighting a Capitol that seemed too cruel to be real. &nbsp; You cheered them on, &nbsp; feeling the pulse of their defiance &nbsp; in your own steady heartbeat. You watched &nbsp;'Star Wars', &nbsp; gripped by the drama of the galaxy far, far away, &nbsp; where a ragtag band of fighters &nbsp; took on an empire too vast to comprehend, &nbsp; and you sided with the rebels, &nbsp; imagining yourself wielding a lightsaber, &nbsp; a hero in the making. You watched 'The Matrix' and nodded along with Neo, &nbsp; the chosen one, &nbsp; as he peeled back the layers of illusion, &nbsp; broke free from a world that wasn’t real. &nbsp; You knew the truth was worth the fight, &nbsp; even if it meant diving headfirst into the unknown. You watched 'Divergent' and admired the courage of those &nbsp; who didn’t fit neatly into boxes, &nbsp; who broke free from a society &nbsp; that demanded conformity. &nbsp; You saw yourself in their rebellion, &nbsp; in the refusal to be anything less &nbsp; than completely, utterly you. You watched 'V for Vendetta', &nbsp; felt the surge of righteous anger &nbsp; as the mask-wearing hero &nbsp; lit the spark of revolution, &nbsp; and you cheered for the downfall &nbsp; of a government too oppressive to endure. &nbsp; You understood the power of the people, &nbsp; the thrill of resistance, &nbsp; the poetry of the fight. And yet, here you are, &nbsp; in the quiet of your own living room, &nbsp; where the stories end &nbsp; and reality begins. &nbsp; You see the headlines, &nbsp; the protests in the streets, &nbsp; the calls for change, &nbsp; the resistance that’s not in a book &nbsp; or on a screen, &nbsp; but in the world around you, &nbsp; in the air you breathe. And somehow, &nbsp; the lines blur, &nbsp; the thrill fades, &nbsp; and you turn away, &nbsp; refusing to see &nbsp; that the story isn’t over, &nbsp; that the battle isn’t won, &nbsp; that the resistance you cheered for &nbsp; in fiction &nbsp; is the same one you’re living in now. Wild, &nbsp; how clear it was &nbsp; when it was someone else’s fight, &nbsp; and how easy it is to close the book, &nbsp; to turn off the screen, &nbsp; to let the credits roll, &nbsp; as if that was the end.

F.S.F

Writing, Poems and Rants

She

Thieves of Illusion

Ressistance