It’s hard for me to figure out what I want to do with my life because
I want to participate in normality
And that tends to encompass the majority of things
I don’t want to fight for:
Grades and jobs that entail
Bending over backwards to show people my worth.
I don’t want to be under-worked and underpaid and underestimated because of my age.
I want to be respected as a human, with ideas.
That seems like decades from now, possibly.
But what ridiculous thing can I do if I choose to run against the system?
It all amounts to shame.
What if I don’t want to solve the world’s problems?
What if I just want to be, because everything is essentially meaningless anyway,
Except for the joy of people, and even that’s temporary to their existence.
Saving the world is such a reckless idea.
Who said the world needs to be saved?
What said it can be? Continue reading Non-Poetic Rant from the Armchair: “Not Saving the World”
Everything has changed.
I avoid stopping so I don’t have to understand it.
A year of hills and touchy pain,
Spiraling up and down
Through heartbreak, freedom and depression,
To life, and suddenly requiring my heart again,
After it’s tumbled in the washing machine for a short time,
Might be the right expression.
I can’t stop, nor want I to go back or forward.
All intimidate me.
The present innocent and content,
The future that I must define,
The past I never want again.
I need time to think,
Room to breathe,
To figure out what’s really been going on.
This new life, of constant learning, of always being,
Contrasts brightly to the hours spent
Hating having to stay at home.
And who have I become with these new people?
I feel softer, but more equal.
And where has my electronic music gone?
Like my poems, out the big wall-window,
In the rain, trampled by the bicycles.
Just like my liking for being alone.
And yet with all that,
Of being completely lost or completely new,
Although both might be the same,
For once in my life I can say one thing,
I feel no more need for change.
I’m the kind of hippie
That drinks red wine
While staring at the city
And goes to the park to write.
Then I come indoors,
Put on my black slacks,
And everyone thinks seriousness
Is the only thing I got going on.
Like, when will you take a joke?
Well your joke is just not funny.
See Plato’s jokes are funny,
Yours seem to be a product of insecurity.
Then I get awfully bored with acting proper
Because around me the people start taking it seriously.
That ends up being funny to me,
And I decide that I must have an attitude problem.
I can’t be the only one thinking that most of college,
Especially classes, is lame.
And then I get into this deep rejection
Of what society deems is useful.
As many have said before me,
it’s a pile of dusty books,
While the world is actually around me,
But I guess civil society has an arbitrary cost of getting in.
You know it’s hard to reconcile;
And I thought I would go crazy
Until I re-read Emerson and
He told me to be myself even if that means being crazy,
Then Socrates let himself die over the exact same thing.
How to be good, I guess is the question?
That ridiculously dusty religious question,
That everyone talks about, but no one thinks.
For me, I don’t care about being good yet,
Because I’m not yet convinced it’s worth it.
I’m not planning on going to heaven,
And I hate injustice,
In the form of people taking advantage of the just.
At this point I think I should have taken a blanket to sit on,
As I’m pretty sure there’ll be dirt on my pants,
Which is hard to explain to a college population that
Doesn’t even go out,
(Unless in groups of 4-10).
Education in the city,
But it feels like there’s nowhere to go
Except for the small facets of nature,
Oases from working the tiresomeness of cultural life.
Although taking my journal with me might not be just that.
I write from my soul
(though there’s no such thing of course)
But my theoretical soul is a jumble of things
Because I too, like everyone else,
Have little idea who I am or where I am,
And certainly no idea of where I’m going,
It just bothers me how it’s hard to find some privacy for my ideas here.
I’m a college student,
Looking to find some cleanness and righteousness
While around me are mashing intoxicated bodies
Confused about who or where they are.
But it doesn’t matter,
Because many won’t even remember this night.
I’ve done my time in their place,
The handsome strangers,
The void of thinking.
That’s why today I’m the one walking outside in the clear morning,
While they sleep, with pure blood in my system,
Anxious to see if perhaps,
There is a realer life beyond this mess.
I am reaching out for something to hold on to
As the map in the corner,
The once prized symbol of hope,
Makes drops in my eyes.
I am once again alone,
Walking away with seemingly nothing,
Hoping the rest of the world,
Those people I don’t know,
Won’t crush me and send me running home,
Where I’m not meant to be.
But how I want a home so badly.
Anything to end the pain of always going on and never stopping.
But I know I wasn’t meant to have such comfort.
Being ordinary never was my own.