We all wait
While the sun lists under the horizon
To the pain of not being whole
We drink many remedies
Laced with alcohol
We procrastinate
Instead of walking and talking
And sitting with ourselves
We bleed in tribute
To the mirror in our pocket
We don’t pray
But we hurl our opinions into the void
And with a thousand little cuts
We sever ourselves
From the impolite truth inside
Within our bubble
We haven’t been taught anything different
But I was taught
By a gibbon with a firelance
From the Author
We live suspended in several dysfunctional systems. We can’t help it- that’s just society. But don’t think for a second that your lot in life is to continue feeding into these systems until the day you die. You may be forced to work for the devil, and with a smile on your face. But you don’t have to give him your sacred soul. You’re allowed to take a stab at systems that don’t work- when your moment presents itself.
I’m learning how to retain my humanity in this inhumane world.
This poem is my firelance.
The Poetry of Ants 