sanctioned portal

As the giant fireball in the sky ignites, my electronic rooster sings a premature wake-up call. “Snooze” is pressed so that for the next five minutes my heart can once again convince my broken brain of this soul’s twenty-four hour affirmation. Then, as the comfort of these warm cozy blankets swoosh away, two unsure feet kiss the cool ground and start to direct the immortal mortal that they’re attached to towards the sanctioned portal.

A flip of the switch simultaneously turns on every blinding light bulb in the room and shuts off this freckled warrior’s defenses. The white door with the silver handle closes, vacuum sealing out the wicked world. The silver faucet opens the gate, releasing a flood of healing hot water. A pull of redirection transfers these healing waters to escape out from above, making it rain a sense of calm.

Scents of vanilla and lavender bubbles soften the titanium amour and morphine tunes fill the empty atmosphere easing the deeply buried stitches. After all of the societal dirt has swirled down the drain, a few last moments of peace are washed over my highlighted head.

Now, 92.5% of the time, this is when my sanctioned time ends.

However, on a 7.5% morning, a five-minute overtime is put into play. “Goner” vibrates my heart as the clear rainfall continues to fall, soaking this mindful mind. Drop after drop running down my anxious neck, dripping down past Jack & Sally and my contradictory fairy. Intermingling amidst the heated raindrops are my salted tears. For during this final five-minute countdown is all of the time I allow myself to break down. Five minutes to cry out all of the ignorant and arrogant mishaps that I have an undeniable tendency to bury over and over. Months of other’s sharpened words and dismissive glares buried and now uncasketed.

five minutes to cry

Five minutes to cry out every moment that I have mentally beaten myself up over, due to the heavy weight my shoulders cursedly bare from this beautifully twisted world. And lastly, five minutes to cry out every lonesome tear that only my biggest fear keeps secret.

When the rain is shut off, so are the tears. I stand in this porcelain portal for one last moment and watch as every broken tear disappears into the unseen. Now out of sight and temporarily out of mind. Now it is time to cloak my naked skin and blend on the chosen mask for the day onto my freckled face. A double take look into the mirror, I watch my reflection morph from who I am, to the vanilla scented silky smooth complexion that I want social media to see. Fist on the silver handle, defenses once again up and in full force, I exit this sanctioned portal.

“Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth…”

-Oscar Wilde

Published in memoirs

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