All this deconstructing and reconstructing signaled an impending collapse, and after a while, the whole thing became boring, and tedious, and a huge energy drain, and for what? At the end of the day, what makes a trash and what makes a treasure? It seems like all things go to the same realm as hair clippings, bits of nail, rubbed off skin on the floor, tar: the abstract maze you made out of all the things you were living with, that poured you out of the world, and into the darkness. And what’s the difference between walls and darkness, what does it matter what’s beyond them when there’s no way out of here? I think about escape, always. I think about a time when I felt I was always on my way.

We find one another slowly, align surreptitiously: the shoe that doesn’t fit joins other shoes that don’t fit, and they become a tribe, cast in such a way as to have the appearance of something that doesn’t fit, while still maintaining the appearance of a shoe. In other words, there’s still an opening for the foot to insert itself, but it’s been closed off. The foot won’t go in. The color is removed, the function is removed. The identity, once housed, has been evicted, and it’s exhilarating: this uselessness as distraction. The steam, off-gassing, and aromas grow cacophonous, toxic, noxious. O Nikes, we chant, louder and louder and with saudade. Remember that age of innocence? I want to pluck your wings so I can fly to the sky!I want to pluck your wings so I can fly to the sky! I want to pluck your wings so I can fly to the sky! I want to pluck your wings so I can fly to the sky! We place our ears to the walls and they rumble.

Excerpt from Maze in 4 Voices

written by Kim-Anh Schreiber for You’re Fierce. You’re Perfect. You Slay.