As the amalgamation of inherited struggles compiles daily, we the individuals of the world, can’t seem to get it together nor have we come to terms with what it means to be together.

Every day that feels like a repetition of the day before,
I would argue,
is a day wasted. 
Every uncaptivated breath

I breathe.

I would argue,
Is unworthy of my lungs. 
It’s because my heart feels dilapidated,
every beat feels suffocated under the weight of my ancestors.

Of your expectations 

Every uncontended impulse claims carelessness. 
They’re screaming useless.
Yet,
The white white West claims delusion
Is the key
to reality?
The Buddha said life was suffering. 
Am I not alive? 
My ancestors would cackle at my concerns. 
Am I broken? 
Crazy?
Maybe?

Certainly not numb
Cause
I don’t drown my feelins. I soak in em. 

Were the internet life gurus right?  
Is the overthinking, indecision? 
Where is the end to all this healin? 
I’m tired of being a soldier,
to not fight feels like to succumb. 
Some say to accept.
Are they right?
Or are they them? 
Those people. 

Them.

They who call their careless candor tough love. 
I must be tone-deaf. 
I don’t feel loved.
I see projections. 
Like how every hot girl’s anthem reeks of heartbreak. 
I see little girls with no tears left to cry.
Their emptiness consumes me, 
I would cry oceans for them to play in if it didn’t mean drowning,
Just to see them smile. 
How many more need to die? 

thee opinions, thee excuses, the protests; 
like my tears, like my feelings, like my days, seem never-ending. 

Process

I’m consistently conflicted with my how. How do you live a life you can be proud of? Whenever I’m presented with a question of this magnitude I like to break it down. What does it mean to live a life I could be proud of? What am I proud of? Where does my pride come from? What is pride? Who does it serve? Why do I feel compelled to serve them? Who is them? When I feel complete with questioning myself I answer. Wherever I question and answer consecutively, I never consider the full depth of the questions or the answers. Then my thoughts overwhelm me, and I get lost in the narrative. When I question the how in my life, I am critiquing the construction of my moral being and how that crafts my character. I am of the belief system that my actions and reactions are inherent reflections of my core beliefs. Therefore the how is a reflection of the who and why. I use these beliefs to write. I always consider if my work represents who I am intrinsically and why I care to be perceived. In this case, I care because life is very confusing. Audre Lorde said something along the lines of “whether we choose to live mute or aloud we suffer.” Therefore I choose to live aloud in the hope I’ll suffer a little less with company. With this in mind, I try to write authentically in search of my tribe. I recognize that there are standards to language and writing. I believe those standards are rooted in centuries of colonization. Therefore I pay little attention to them. I wish to be understood but not at the expense of diluting my essence. The goal in avoiding the status quo is to find others who wish to live lives unwritten. With all these things in mind, I just type and type until everything feels right.