Is the anticipation killing me
or am I just approaching new breath with each death?
Every moment a vehicle to carry me closer
but I'm crammed in the boot
along with all the baggage of the human race.
The symmetrical face split by power and greed.
Who agreed that a creed was the only way to get us all on board?
To transport our preferences just so
we may wheel and deal the societal day.
No wonder I see them trudging so ignorantly
through the underbelly of the
cyclical, spiralesque nature of time
where all of the material filth and bile collect.
But how appreciative am I
of past soul sprucing vessels
who have assuredly done their part. While
we all share the same start, will
we eventually grow together, not apart?
Mostly in a state of existential crisis, wrapped up in my own mind and in the thoughts that weigh heavy through cyclical depression. Thoughts consisting of anxiety and unhappiness about school, society, humanity, the world, the waste, the ignorance, and my own inner conflicts of knowledge and memory cause constant yearning to exist in a more positive and productive state. My writing through this time has reflected the tendencies I have to think too much, my resolution being through doing art and through connecting with nature. My writing process is usually different every time. Sometimes by compiling small phrases I’ve jotted down in my notes, other times by writing stream of consciousness, and others are more about what word sounds intrigue me. I have found that my writing reads best when I utilize all of these tactics together.