What does it mean to be?
Sick of the same sad flow, everyday another social media post accompanied by half-hearted captions,
painstaking math executed just to capture beauty, creativity, authenticity – when none of it is truly real.
news laden with celebrity worship – I say that as kneel at the altar of a few false idols myself and bring them burnt offerings of flesh and compliments.
It’s an accomplishment just to stay afloat through this pandemic, let alone in a state where Proud Boys have stormed the capitol six weekends in a row,
In protest of nothing, if they took the time to read through the evidence.
“Anti-fascist” is a simple enough concept yet it incites fear and anger in some – confusing, since wars were fought and won to ensure the world was free of fascism.
Peek through the shades, forced to wake up early on Sundays, Navy blue dress pants and scuffed shoes,
Cracks in the tile and chipping paint on the walls are all I could ever focus on from my seat in the pews.
The cracks, the chips, are all I can see now when I close my eyes.
I blink and relief washes over me like a tidal, all-consuming, cleansing.
Safe and sound for now, but still uncertain of what it means to be
successful as another cog in the wheel,
happy in a corrupt capitalist system,
awake through the chaotic, endless nightmare that is striving for the American dream.
sealed in ink 