haven’t been writing much
in the last year.
shit got real
really real.
2020 was not a good year
not for me
not for you
unless you owned Amazon
the year was shit.
this one isn’t looking nearly as bad
but that’s just like being
a fractured pinky
on a hand with no other fingers.
I am trying to do better
trying to live better
be healthier
take care of my body
and my mind
but no matter what I do
one thing is still certain
people are still awful
common sense isn’t common anymore.
we need new words in the lexicon.
I’m running out of ways to say things like
other people are hell.
you see, the problem is
that I write about mundane shit.
it’s that mundane shit that drives
me mad.
when shit got less mundane
and shit got real
it was too much for me.
I was fragile already.
the lies, murders, hate, etc.
was powerful
I had to learn how to coexist with it
learn how to share space with it
learn how to breathe with it.
I still don’t know how,
but being desensitized to it
is helping.
it’s slow, but consistent.
the world is still shit
the people in it are still shit
it’s just that the crimes are
more severe,
or at least, more seen.
lights are on where there weren’t any.
spotlights burn away the darkness
things done in secret aren’t that anymore.
then, funny things happened,
with so much stuff in the light
many just put on blinders
so that they didn’t have to see.
they could still be run by the mundane.
they could still act like petty things
are big deals and big deals
are just hoopla and nothing.
I still find anxiety in the mundane,
but the mundane has changed,
it is now only mundane
because of the extremity and
heinousness of so many other things.
the cause and the effect don’t matter,
people are still shit.
my madness still exists,
the world is crazier than I.
the only difference now is my sorrow.
