oh, how we like to own things, but most of all, how we relish owning people

if you have feelings for someone it makes it ok to claim rights over that person’s life and emotions, stick your flag in him or her because it is your son, your daughter, your mother or father, wife or husband or lover.

I know and understand the need to be one with the person you love, make her or him part of yourself, to the point where it’s irrelevant who’s body is who’s. I know what it feels like being part of something bigger than you, something you believe in.

but it never ceases to amaze me how much we enjoy this possession game. all with a huge appetite and insatiable need for more, as if we are not all free souls, but shells designed to be someone’s appendix in a form or another. done unconsciously, in silent, deadly manner, spreading like a virus from generation to generation. people enduring being properties bound by social laws,  when their souls haven’t agreed to this, just so that everyone else can sleep better at night.

we talk about belonging to someone, to a an ideology or group as if we’re lost suitcases in a train station, incapable of living our destiny if not used in a certain form. loving is not holding, it’s a flow that enriches and frees, that gives joy and happiness which is the quintessence of life.

I see your hand stretched out to me and I wonder what was inscribed in your life lines, what claims you will have there for me. and I’m thinking

I don’t want to hold hands. not if the price is giving me up


Dazzle Razzle me

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