Rolling Matryoshka

Grew up by the falls in a world of no favors
The inheritance was just the last name
I fell between the haves and the have-nots.
Curled under a trailer while it rains.
Stony penalties and starving rumblings caged my mischiefs.
I drowned in adolescent insecurities, while adults’ alcoholism poured two glasses.
The fleeting moments with mom and my siblings
are fresh in recollection as the happiest ones.

Pushed out of the sleepy town in my teens
It still takes away my sleep at 3 am.
The slow steps of survival in a town by the highway.
Ended up in an apartment crammed with many faces.
My twin ended up in another state.
The slow burning often smothered my sleep.

It burned deeper at a lonely place,
In the midst of colorful Instagram reels of abundance.
In that corner of no windows, the iPhone was the portal.
In that other world, the lonely I often lost the door
In the world of the web, though I fear a spider bite,
I searched for a shelter and golden nuggets.

Hitchhiking through life on the highway of no destinations.
Lazy strolls, short reels skipped the hikes and sunrises.
Lost milestones while figuring out another day of plenty.
Contentment coffined under pills and prescriptions.
The neon lights, the tikToks turned my wheel forward
When the lights and reels roll the wheel,
The rolling never ends.

Window, thrift, or a trick shopping,
The rolling never ends.
Drifted towards rocky brands and fancy layers.
while the image I seek is still a shore away
Transactions lost their value and ended up in clicks.
Hordes of empty boxes blocked my doorstep
Still, couldn't find that serene piece of cloth.
Maybe it's already in my closet.
Still, couldn't find that piece to instill pride.
Maybe I just need to look in the mirror.
In a switch, the mirror lights up,
Still, nails and lashes couldn't peel the layer.
Maybe I just need to close my eyes and see myself.

What grew in me?
Constant narration of crimes, or
The voices of beloved people, momochka, siblings
What moves me?
My own desire or dissatisfaction
What pushes me?
The closed gates or the glitter of the gold.
What rides me?
The neglect of the neighbors, or the rage for acceptance.
What defines my rolling?
The rage to show the world, to be a success, or
a success marketed by the brands.

May this be my prayer
Let me be a success, but let no neighbor decide my success
Let me be a success, but let no brand decide its shine.
Let me be a success, but let no stereotype carve it.
Let it flow like water, as a stream towards the ocean
Let it be grand as ocean sands, and the marks it makes as I walk
Let it be a tear hidden, while I make that happy, content smile.
Let it be that bundle I made, collecting simple stones and leaves on my hike.