and i guess, we all ended up here, somehow. dissociative and empty, staring into the traffic as our eyes go cold. because maybe it’s awful. but it’s also all i’ve ever known.
and the lights feel like they’re calling me. my very own instincts, bowed down before me. and i’d kill, just for you to look at me. because i just need desperately not to feel this alone.
and maybe you want to sleep. maybe you want to close your eyes, and bury yourself in blankets, and pillows; rest your head in the clouds and dream like you used to. but who fucking cares? because little girl, you have shit to do.
and maybe if i squint, somehow the light will hit it right. maybe if i just try harder. and maybe if i just smile wider. it’ll feel like it used to. and if i write myself a lie, will my life turn beautiful?
and it’s all such fucking bullshit. a broken system. a tired god. and i know that. i always have. and yet here i am. another starry-eyed idiot.
taking a deep breath. looking down into the abyss, sprinkled with glitter and sleepdust.
and surrendering myself completely to it.
Ah yes. Don’t we all love some life crisis poetry? Because boy, have I been writing some of that of late. I don’t know, I have these really good days, and then I have this sudden realization that at this point my entire life is basically my work with brief breaks for FaceTime calls and books and TV. Which is really depressing, honestly. But, yeah. I have very strong workaholic tendencies–it’s kind of a thing that runs in my family, actually–and that’s what I tried to write this poem about.
My productivity has always felt very entangled with my self-worth, I guess. I’ve been having trouble even sleeping of late, because all I can think about these days is that… I could be doing something better. Should be doing something better, but I’m not, and even now I’m writing this on a tight deadline knowing I have, like, a billion other things I need to do today and lowkey panicking about it, trying to rush through my childhood–rush through the things that make me happiest–because it just… no matter how hard I try, it always just feels like I’m running out of time. I guess.
I don’t mean this to criticize working hard as a value. Or the internet, and technology in general–because I think both of those can be really beautiful things. But I also think that the culture surrounding it can be really damaging; this expectation that every element of your life has to be documented and shared, that every single second spent not, yanno, churning the wheel of capitalism, is a second spent badly. This constant pressure I feel almost every day, to put out as much content, as fast as I can, regardless of how actually good it is. And since I’ve been struggling so much with that of late, I guess I just kind of… decided to write about it.
How do you guys feel about that culture? How does it affect you? I’ve been thinking about this a lot of late.
Lots of love,