I keep wondering,
Could I be content with happy?
Ha, that's a funny thought.
I'm blinded by the worst
Yet I pursue it so urgently
What could be right?
The fact that I'm falling in love
But I'm aggressively running away from it.
It's a whirlwind of ignorance,
I'll keep running from yours.
My clarity is being fogged
I refuse.
I hate you
Who am I kidding?
Me, that's who.
My divided contradiction
It's right because I trust you
Could I possibly be content?
I've found it in an anxious trust
My wandering soul
I've found my love
A love for the unsure
Delighted in the journey
Trusting my way through my disbelief
And willingly falling into the very thing that ran from finding.

Some budding minds of larvae
become slaves to indoctrination
holding ransom to their morals
with mundane anticipation.
Ants and Bees take to the streets
dragging dignity through the trip
while sharks above hound them
discipline at the crack of a whip.
The struggle of paying to work
catches the children by surprise
though the nature of nepotism
gives others meteoric rise.
Ragged, they stay warm
through the fires of finance killing
so that the glutenous worms
can feed off the standard of living.
And those who live in glass mansions
have their view clouded by rain
as they look down at the masses
with contempt and disdain.

what have i to do with these grips,
these squared, white knuckles
holding tight to handle bars?
what have i to do with these empty stares,
eyes void of truth?

these "fill-in-the-bubble, A B or C, music only reaches the ears" types of humans
attempting to tell me how to carry out my existence,
attempting to tell me the most efficient
practical
mindless ways to die?
attempting
to tell me
to show me
the most rewarding ways
to die.

what have i to do with these sculptors
who try and quantify the rain,
who try and evaporate
the sun?
what have i to do with these ideas of perfection, of what is best?
these assumptions of false fulfillment,
these preludes to orderly, institutionalized chaos
and contempt?
what have i to do with all of these cardboard boxes
which cannot differentiate between being filled
empty
open
closed
soft
rough
dry
loved?
what have i to do with those who cannot detect their own storms,
their own energy waiting to explode?
what have i to do with one shade of blue?
what have i to do with feet that cannot move,
knees that cannot bend?
what have i to do with white houses
black cars
trimmed bushes
a front porch?
what have i to do with stationary?
what have i to do with these wings
unless they are free to flutter?
what have i to do with structure
with corners
with average
with plain?
what have i to do with boredom
with settling
with insignificant breath?

what have i to do with waste?
what
have i
to do
with waste.