The Cost of Living
I awake as from a dream,
sweating, shaking, voiceless scream,
into a life that can’t relent.
Consciousness gifted without consent,
with debt to pay, every day.
Walking on the path of life
every step is full of strife.
Within, without, it matters not.
The debt I pay turns mind to rot
so the love I feel hardly seems real.
As sensation floods my being
tears try to obscure my seeing
of things out there that cause me pain.
Yet I cannot avoid the rain
by adding to it, bit by bit.
I run away into myself,
hoarding emotional wealth
to pay collectors when they come.
They take it all, to the last crumb
of self-respect, and leave neglect.
The work to do, to earn it back,
is hindered by the total lack
of rest from my own daily toil.
Nothing grows from blasted soil,
and so I yearn, but do not earn.
Perhaps there will soon come a time
where what I do will be just fine
but today is not that day.
Today, to stay, I have to pay.
To pay it all to prevent the fall
away from bliss, into the abyss.
To Be Alone
I want to be alone.
Not forever, but just for a while.
A peaceful escape,
alone with my thoughts.
But it’s all around, this human race.
Complete intrusion in every place.
Always, everywhere in my face
with stubborn pride and lack of grace.
They dig their way into my mind,
demand attention, make me blind
to the fact that they are kind
and loving. Still, me, they bind.
---
I stay at home to be alone.
Not forever, but just for a while.
A peaceful escape,
alone with my thoughts.
But protected as I am by walls
their sound intrudes into my halls.
Cars and planes and loud footfalls
from neighbours packed in ever small-
er spaces to exert their thrall.
To grow their flock, their own cabal.
Children playing, throwing balls;
a pack of them creates a squall
of shouting, crying, high-pitched wails,
piercing straight across the veil
of music played to block the gale-
force noise that makes my mind derail.
Innocent they are, but still they fail
to give me peace. What this entails
is melancholy, weary exhale.
My house becomes a sonic jail.
---
I go to the forest to be alone
Not forever, but just for a while.
A peaceful escape,
alone with my thoughts.
But always come the rustling of leaves,
obvious gait from beyond the trees
as sound and words and laughter cleave
into my thoughts; attention thieves.
“Good morning!” they say, and my reprieve
is broken now. I sigh, and heave,
and smile right back to hide my grieve-
ance that they be so profoundly naïve.
I hold the façade until they leave.
Once they’ve gone along their ways,
into the distance I might gaze;
through the early morning haze,
through the luscious forest maze
hoping to see the sun, it’s rays.
Instead I see scenes of dismay;
Buildings, housing, gyms, cafés.
All around these humans graze
and decimate the land, always.
All around they give their praise
unto themselves, until they raze
the natural world, with sparse malaise,
and in its place, housing is raised.
Their breath becomes a toxic blaze.
---
I go to coffee shops to be alone
Not forever, but just for a while.
A peaceful escape,
alone with my thoughts.
A single blade of grass in here,
a human glade, should have no fear
as here I hide among my peers.
Yet when my mind begins to clear
notifications drill into my ears.
Texts and calls and emails blear
at all times, just like a spear
thrown towards the one who steers
my mind. Unseated! Focus smeared,
and now responsibility rears
it ugly head. The body veers
without the mind, forced into gear,
and dragged toward holy career.
When I find, again, respite
and tear myself from worker’s plight
the young, again, blockade the light
with parents helping, day and night.
Having kids is a human right
they say; the right to fill my sight
and space with yet more blight.
Two of them now scream and fight
but mum is pregnant, shows delight
in what, to me, would cause great fright.
Is it me that’s not all right?
What I want is time and space
to call my own, quiet’s embrace.
While we respect physical space,
my mental space? That has no place
in the rat race; in any place
in every place,
cyberspace,
the marketplace,
physical, mental, VR space,
in each of these I am encased
by the commonplace human race.
Neither subspace, nor any headspace
is good enough a hiding place.
---
There is nowhere to be alone
Not forever, but just for a while.
No peaceful escape,
to be alone with my thoughts.
And there never will be.
The Mastery of Ego
Evolution has dealt me a bad hand
For what is good is not what I feel
What is just is not what I want
What is right makes me feel sick to my soul
Life, for me, is a battle against the self
Denial of impulses, never an indulgence
For if control were to slip, even for a minute
The ego would take over, and bring me happiness
It would bring me security through control of others
It would bring me freedom by restricting others
It would bring me success at the cost of others
It would keep me safe from the will of others
These feelings are valid, so I'm always told
I can feel what I feel, and not be ashamed
Yet how can this be true, when what I have to do
Is work on them, always, to make them go away
Male ego is cause of most evil deeds
Competition, violence, dominance, intended to appease
The emptiness inside that all men feel
As our minds make us fight for a world that isn't real
Yet the feelings persist, the need to control.
Constant fear of weakness, inferiority
I'm tired of it all, I don't want to compete
But if I don't then I'll lose everything I hold dear
For everything on Earth is a zero-sum game
Food, shelter, and love, given only if you pay
And if someone will pay more than I ever can
Then what can I do but watch it go away
But all is fair in love and in war
Both much closer than I thought before
For freedom is the right to choose your own path
To turn away from weakness and towards strength
I will not control, I will not restrict
For these things are unjust in all walks of life
Yet these are the things my mind wants for me
And never can I have them, no security here
I'm resigned to my fate, these things I must do
To fit in to society, to not overstep.
I've mastered my ego, I've brought it to heel
And I'm endlessly sad in this rock and hard place
A Battle to End Battles
Is it a mountain, tall, and proud?
It’s presence booms: “No, you cannot pass me!”
Or is it a river, fast, and wide?
The current whispers: “Come, I’ll sweep you away.”
A hedge maze, perhaps? When we entered, who can say?
The wind in the leaves hisses: “You’ll never get out.”
Or an army charging forth at full speed.
The bannermen scream: “This will be your doom!”
But they’re wrong.
For the general of that army, hiding behind them,
The one who summoned fear to the field,
is me.
The maze’s architect, who hides in its midst,
The one who reshapes, and prevents escape,
is me.
The source of the river, who controls the flow,
who erodes the channel, widening the crossing
is me.
The mountain itself, growing higher and higher,
but never moving, stubborn to a fault,
is me.
Insurmountable problems; subjective, yet real.
I cannot win these battles.
But what I can do is refuse to fight.
For they are me, and I they.
I will not ascend the mountain, I will melt it back down into the earth.
I will not cross the river until I have calmed it.
I will not solve the maze, I will cut it down and climb above.
I will not fight the army, I will call it off.
For the real battle is to learn, and to grow,
Until we have the skills and the knowledge
to stop the battle itself.
And to never start it again.
This is the next step for humanity.
The future of each of us and all of us.
Inside and out.
And we can do it.
The Chains of Identity
I stand alone, frozen in place,
by the weight of identity placed upon my shoulders.
Chains around my neck;
I wish I could take them off.
Wait, I can!
I have the strength to lift them up;
to take them off and cast them aside.
Expectations forced upon me
by parents,
by friends,
by colleagues,
by enemies,
by others.
With one great realisation, one beautiful introspection,
I take control and throw them away
to reclaim myself, whoever that is.
So the journey begins, and what a journey it is;
Of sexuality and introspection,
society and self,
ethics and economy.
“Who am I?”, I ask.
The question drives me forward.
As I go on, I look all around
and see people still struggling, as I was before.
I try to assist with words and support,
to use what I know, my privilege, to help.
But, as with Mjolnir, I cannot lift their burden for them.
The responsibility of claiming their power is theirs alone.
Yet others I see who are very like me.
We talk for a while, and share mutual glee.
We walk for a while along the same road,
but before long our paths diverge.
A chasm between us which I will not cross,
for I see what happens to them.
I weep, for their journey ends here.
I watch them slow down, I watch them stop dead.
At a crossroads with countless ways to proceed.
Others arrive from along those very roads;
What a wonderful place to be!
Yet there at the crossroads, off to one side,
just a bit too far to reach from the path,
is something that terrifies me to my core.
More chains.
All coiled up in a neat little pile,
as though someone laid them there for us to take.
Metal links polished to such a shine.
We can see our faces in them.
Curiosity beckons. We step from the path.
We pick one up. The weight feels familiar.
As we touch it, a new link forms on this and the others.
We drape it around ourselves, again, and again.
The chains fit. Of course they do.
We feel secure. Protected. Validated, as our companions do the same.
Experiences shared,
yet chains they remain.
We smile,
for these are the chains we have chosen.
Perhaps it was never a choice.
Perhaps these chains were always ours.
For did the path not inevitably lead here?
Don’t all paths lead here? Maybe this isn’t a crossroads,
but the end of the line.
We were always this way.
The journey ends.
As many have said, and still say today,
it is not the destination that matters but the journey itself.
That path that we take
with every single choice that we make.
So why does the journey ever have to end?
Why do we stop and say “Yes, this is me!”,
“This is who I am!”,
“Who I always was!”,
“Who I’ll forever be!”
How can we say this, when “I” barely exists.
Do we not write our own stories, each and every day?
Why must the plot change, while the characters stay?
“I” is fluid for us all, just to different degrees,
and while others reject this, I say it proudly:
That I am who I am now,
I was who I was before,
I will be who I will be later
But “I” has changed, is changing, and will change again.
As I decide.
A crossroads I may reach, but never again
will I take up the chains of identity.
I will continue on, simply for the sake of moving.
One person’s forward is another’s behind.
Our experiences mark and change us
in ways deeper than we can yet say.
And that is ok.
Stolen Joy
On the bus to work each morn
Under the gorgeous light of dawn
Sit those in all-consuming woe
Their newspaper takes away their soul
All throughout the daily grind
Friends and colleagues toil at our side
Yet we look down and barely respond
Our phones take away our bonds
Oftentimes our greatest place
Is being in true love's embrace
Yet now our love comes off the shelf
Date apps take away our self
Each and every single night
As work's end comes into sight
We rush towards a stagnant leisure
FOMO takes away true pleasure
Everywhere I look around
Beauty there is to be found.
Yet eyes are pulled to profit's regime
Adverts take away our dreams
As I continue to exist
Surrounded by the chance of bliss
I have no time to go and thrive
Stress takes away our lives
All these things, these stolen joys
Are the human spirit itself. Without
them, hope is easily lost. Creativity is lost,
replaced with the thoughts of others.
Others with money, others for whom
our attention, effort, minds, our very
lives are commodities to be bought and sold.
Surely if we all work too hard, the answer
is less work, not more content. "Content".
I don't care what it is, any content will
do, so long as it fills my mind for a while.
Escapism itself is the trap, it seems
The will is there, I want to find
The time and space to free my mind
but it's hard with all these pressures. The pressure of
society itself. It's too much; overwhelming sometimes. Still...
Deep breath in, deep breath out
It's impolite to scream and shout.
Instead let's leave our woe's employ
Let's reclaim our stolen joys!
If the news gives pure despair
Read a book, escape the snare
Instead of seeking Twitter likes
Seek instead a friend's insights
Instead of...
...
*sigh* I'm tired.
I'll just watch Netflix and check Twitter.