I’m not your septic clean, nor perfected beauty, applied with concise.
I’m not your step by step. your path to trusted success
is there really any truth to your scientific method?
my poetry might not be beautiful, or hopelessly romantic
I’d rather dissect everyday normality, conventional morality
and be your endless critic
you think you made a choice, not realizing that you’re following a distinct pattern
reinforced by repeat, habituation
collectively celebrating individuation
I’m sorry for you all, none of you is accountable
Here me out speaking through all that arrogance, it’s a defense I know
there’s nothing scarier than to be devoid of responsibility
because no matter what you did, it wouldn’t matter
sure, now you can be whoever you wanted to be, with no purpose, reasoned intention
and the scholarly voices, and rebellious citizens call you out
how does it feel?
the journey on your destructive wheel
despite the lure of lesser resistance, the leisure in maximizing pleasure
arriving there step by step, performed, constructed, intentional
and you experience life as magic, call it home, call it love, and see your emotions reflected
in the changing of the weather and majorities faces
I know it doesn’t feel so good, not as movies tell you it should.
a sketch inspired by thom yorke’s ‘tomorrows modern boxes’ album