Focused Depression
Sometimes my vision shifts to gray
and people become masses of chaos,
unrecognizable balls of energy surrounding me
nothing is exciting or intriguing
it’s all rather fucked, isn’t it?
the state humanity is in;
if we dare even call ourselves human the way we’ve historically treated each other and this planet that is our home.
yes, we can smile and laugh and spread joy
as we face our imminent doom as a species...
all because the love of power has overcome the power of love too many times.
we are here for such a short time,
so why not make the best of it?
careful, optimism can cloud clarity.
and how do you know what’s best for everyone?
addicted to shifting emotional states.
have you ever sat with your hate?
people would rather choose comfort over change;
temporary pleasure over lasting fulfillment;
take instead of give;
rationalize instead of learn;
such a disgusting species, these humans.
and i’m one of them.
When viewing the world with this lens,
it all seems rather hopeless.
and maybe it is.
Not even pondering the existence of activists
can inspire me during times like these.
But it’s okay
cause I’ll read some Herman Hesse and Charles Bukowski
and feel just a little less lonely knowing
that I’m not the only person tasting the bitterness of this world
and finding freedom in writing
while fantasizing about the succulent sensations of nature.
Because nature makes sense.
and people... not so much.
I’m glad Robin Williams ended his own life;
it takes a huge burden off my shoulders to realize
that I may never stop contemplating suicide.
I can stop holding onto the lie that things will get better.
They might not.
They probably won’t.
A man who spent the majority of his time on this planet
contributing to the laughter and smiles prevalent
still couldn’t make sense of any of this
and decided he didn’t want any of this after all.
I wonder how many times he contemplated this
before making that last call.
Some will find this poem depressing
and start worrying about me.
“Why?” I ask.
I’m just fine.
I’m able to look devastation in the face
and decide
that I’m here til I die.
I’ll observe and experience
and go to bed more often than not,
not wanting this life.
But I’ll stick around til death decides it wants me
cause I get this feeling I’ll never stop learning.
I don’t have to be happy or even intrigued
as truths start unraveling.
I just have to be.
Existence.
As is.
Nothing much to it
when responses
take the place of reaction.
Restlessness more honest than satisfaction;
Letting-be more helpful than altering conviction.
Where would we all be if we weren’t told where to be?
What would we be doing if no one told us to pursue “happy?”
(2014)
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