Rungs

The following was written in one go and has not been edited (except for one typo). 

Somewhere after I crossed the line i had inherited from parents and culture, it dissolved. 

I encountered a lot of other people far behind the forgotten line. 

Up ahead was another line. 

Beyond it, less people. 

I crossed another line into loneliness so I went back to find more had gathered where I’d left them. 

But now I return to that far distant place I’d avoided because I’ve been invited there by others who also found their way. 

Not all are ready yet. 

The lines are there to protect those who are not yet ready. 

The horde of us is gradually migrating through the decades and the generations. 

By the time I’m too old to do anything much about it the mainstream will have accepted openly that which I already know to be the way we’re meant to be. 

We are dissolving prejudice and shaming. 

We are dissolving false morality and tyranny. 

It frightens those who hurt us the loudest for going places they dare not yet. 

What pushes us toward the liberation is healing from experiences we never wished to have. 

We are caught up in this thing where assimilating the toxic to purify it is the only way to deal with it safely. 

Avoiding it too but it’s inevitably already in our system. 

Because our ancestors compromised with culture and we have had to do the same. 

When I was a child the thought of kissing was icky and gross. 

Now I crave to gorge myself on the butt-hole of a vixen in an attempt to wrestle with myself hoping to remain sane that little longer and to feel as good as I hope to make her feel for a short while. 

The vixen is called surviving in society. 

I know you’d thought it was a personal flirt but that’s because you’re tainted too with the embrace of external factors influencing your wholesome pure heart. 

We’re all a part of this. 

And we all have tongues to kiss with. 

The crime is how we don’t. 

We’re too busy spiking hearts with them and feeling insecure for not having a solid enough world beneath our feet. 

Life is teaching us to dance and enjoy it as wildly as we dare and yet we’re cursed by the control of envious others who demand we pay them for the privilege of rising above the depression they inflict to grind us down and keep us from rising to where we could and should be, far above their grip. 

Only once we learn the dance can we dodge their zombie clutches to swim toward the stars we are made of, where we belong. 

It’s poetic hippy claptrap but it’s also worth a bomb if you market it right. 

That capitalist part of your brain is the damage not the cure and yet to survive the culture, it’s the other way around. 

This illustrates how far wrong we’ve gone from the way we're meant to. 

But it’s free to cross the lines and leave behind the insecurities. 

Free and easy to lay naked in a starlit pit with strangers who won’t judge you at all for it. 

That’s the way the cultures heading, hedonistic final nights before it all comes crashing down because it has  to. 

We are the harbingers of that or else we work against the progress by becoming less than we deserve. 

Which gods do you serve? 

And do you have the nerve to stare them down when it’s your moment to decide. 

They’ll decide for you anyway regardless what you say, so scream your truth out anyway. 

There’s nothing left to lose now but for your shame; the one thing you defined yourself by thanks to the indoctrination inflicted to restrict you.