On reliance

I’ve learned not to rely on you. You’ve taught me that well. I’ve learned that things are almost always what they seem. I’ve learned not to believe what I hear and always listen for the silences. The things people do not say speak volumes. I’ve learned you must endure what you never had and learn to live without what you thought was yours. 

I’ve learned a lot and taught a little. I’ve learned that lessons are only valid when you teach them to another, never to yourself. I’ve learned that what we fear the most always finds its way back to us, to teach us once again. I’ve learned that what you give will not come back to you; you should not expect it to. You should not have offered in the first place. You should only give when you don’t expect.

I’ve learned not to depend on you, for you will always let me down; sometimes, even before you’ve picked me up. Sure, we all use each other. We all inhale with greed. We all feed off the crumbs that were never even intended for consumption. We’ve learned that quotes sum up our existence better. For we are weak, unaware, and compulsively ignorant. We are socially illiterate. 

We are animals pretending to belong to another species; one we invented to amuse ourselves. One we’ve been using to elevate our false assumptions of what it is to be noble, righteous, dignified, and logical. We rationalise bullshit and call it human.

I’ve learned to build a cage, and then I taught myself to breathe inside it. I haven’t locked myself in, I’ve simply kept everyone else out. I’ve kept myself safe, sane, alone, almost unscathed. They see me as a prisoner, I see them as enslaved. I’ve learned how to almost be normal. I’ve learned how to keep the Wolf inside. I’ve learned that when he comes out they don’t even dare to look. All they see is teeth. 

I’ve learned not to rely on you, something you’ve always been proud of. A pat on the back and a grin. A kind word for tokenism. A small amount of logic to sugar-coat the rest. As the coffee drips into the jug, so your words fall and are consumed; as if they mean something, as if I won’t be needing more, as if they made some kind of difference. Both were as good as their taste endured in my mouth, on my tongue, and in between these sharp, hostile teeth. 

I don’t have a pack, I go alone, for I’ve learned not to rely on you. Not to rely on anyone. 

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