I used to press four wheels under one board on the roads on DC

Leaning on my toes to move left then leaning towards my heels to move right

I used to make waves downhill on the pavement

Seeking stimulation in falling

 

Now, here

In Charlotte

I ride circles around the curving parking lot of my apartment complex

Searching for the same kind of stimulation

 

 

As a budding youth I sought stimulation in the auditory and the visual and the consumable

sitting still, soaking in the digital light of the television

Or giving myself up to the sonic awe of music

Or developing a dependence on caffeinated syrup and sugar

 

As I’ve grown I’ve noticed that

This need to be stimulated exists in everyone

 

From the rebel to the soldier

From the Romantic to the cheater to the homewrecker

From the drug dealer to the drug addict

 

From birth from the grave

Isn’t it strange how our own vessels, our own worlds, can become not enough?

And when we seek to push past that, that’s still most likely what remains, not enough