We build our realities on just the skeleton of what we see,
and we speak in hieroglyphics,
and the prison door is open,
but we sit in there waiting because after seeing the world through bars for so long,
that’s the only way it looks right.
Freedom ain’t no gift; it’s a curse;
it’s a burden;
it costs, y’know,
it’s heavy.
And on TV a guy said,
“The man who wants to be unhappy will always find a pretext.”
And I thought,
“Who the fuck wants to be unhappy?”
Given the choice, everyone would be happy. Y’know if,
if someone asks you a question, you speak your answer, see?
No need to yell.
People who yell don’t want an answer;
they just want you to yell back.
So, all you need is your own answer.
The one that makes you happy.
As that thing forms in your mind it is yours to define,
your reality, your happiness, your work of art,
you paint it in your way, work on it, and spend time with it, and understand it, y’know? So, you see, you find the happiness of the free man,
not the prisoner.
Written by Albert Gross
Edited by Rachel Tannenbaum
45 Magazine Women's Literary Journal 