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Monday, November 07, 2016


by Maria Mariaaaaa, ello

I can’t feel anything really
numb like ice picks in the freezer of my thoughts
Like all these things flowing in and out are spiked and gaunt and stupid
Like a whore in church or some other idiom that I can’t remember because they don’t matter
Like gallons of water in a desert like cakes in a pastry shop
When abundance is present, finding purpose or reason seems meaningless
Such is the largest paradox I know: fight for freedom
Bleed and starve and die for freedom to stand on your head
Then we all stand on our heads and don’t know what to do after that
So we’re free, so let’s just gorge mac and cheese and fuel and celebrities
I mean, after all, that’s the truth of freedom isn’t it?
Not equality or balance en masse, but excess.
I wish hunger games was just a good allegory
Then I could sleep more and care less.
And these fucking ice picks in my head would melt away and I could maybe see my reflection somewhere
I could maybe feel some relief that all those brave souls that came before and fought for this
Didn’t give their starvation for me to sit behind this computer and muse
About what to rhyme next and never about what I abuse

I suppose us developed country souls are all guilty in our assumed bliss
After all, we have this.
But do we? I mean, hills and drumpf sure think they do too.
Control is just another guise of freedom’s ammunition.
Give a few figureheads a title and let the starved slave-peons to money take retribution
Same story, different era.
My imprinted immigrant ancestors gave their kids everything for more opportunity
And I take it and consume it and expect more to fill my millennial mouth
It can’t ever seem to feel full like gluttony isn’t enough
So is that there fault? For giving me too much or expecting that the yearning for more would change from me
Outta them and onto me.

Same ache for more, same numbness as the present
Just with more stuff and more resentment

I could keep going.
After all, my zip code meant I’ll be ‘successful’
So I have time to write this and save money and by in to all the crap that I’m fed about what success is and what I need and
What propaganda’s play has meant from my spoon-fed perspective
But I digress. Because maybe one day I’ll change the world with more than just a cursor
I know, I know
The pen is mightier than the sword.
But, 50% of the world won’t be able to read this, so for now,
I’ll just let global warming melt the ice picks
Knuckle down
and be ok with this.

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