it’s not brave
to turn a blind eye to the world
it’s not brave to ‘keep fighting’ and sit and simmer in the brew of intrusion and individually assigned value
this is not a good place
this is not a world i want to live in
it’s not brave to ‘soldier on’
it’s not brave to play into a system that is destined to fail because it is on a cycle that churns currency and spits it out on every rotation to the cruel few who designed it.
it’s not brave to listen to them.
accept and state your cowardess.
do not fool yourself into believing you are anything but a fly in a colony.
short lived, easily replicated and replaced, and easily influenced.
your mind aligning with them is not brave.
it’s normal. it’s what is supposed to happen.
it’s how we got to existence today.
stop selling the ideas of original and unique.
hardly anyone is.
and that’s okay.



i want to be leaves
rustling around in a warm evening breeze
inextricably connected to something bigger than them for their whole lives,
surrounded by others who are linked to that thing, too.
i want the changing of my beliefs and the recoloring of my being to be anticipated with childlike wonder,
rather than as a biological and chemical restructuring.
i want to be celebrated when i evolve and devolve, not mourned.
life is mutable.
i want to have my inevitable deterioration be expected and greeted with a gentle smile by those passing by, for others to know that in my winter i wither, but summer is soon.
i want my final death to be loved and cherished, to be seen as a beautiful way to allow the world and the cause to grow.
i want to be the leaves on the tree of existence that feed a bigger being, as it nourishes me back.


my thighs and stomach are
soft and my belly is full of
cheese and wine and fruit.
my skin is cool and pale but full and my hands
give me nostalgia for when they were small and padded with childhood’s natural safeguard.
now they are rough and leaner and a big vein protrudes from the middle of the back of each.
i often don’t recognize my body.
i look down at my forearm or feet or
feel my shoulder or hip and i don’t know who i am.
but right now, it’s okay. i am content,
i feel melancholy on the opposing edge.
soft and passionless happiness.