Life is such a drag
You live in fear
Of living a life without being a slave
Your whole existence revolts against being a slave
To the system, and wants to be free
Yet the fears consuming you are that you aren't doing your job
And are not deserving of being paid
The fear of what if you aren't paid?
Where will society pit you
How will you live
Will it have to be with the parents?
<Scream intensifies!>
You live alone and want to be alone all your life
Except a pet or two, and adopting a child
Maybe. Only if I know I can be good enough to
Love and nurture another being
And not destroy their life by making them feel
unwanted, and a mistake, and always falling behind.
I want freedom
From comfort, from having a job, from having relations
From having to talk, from having to smile,
From living in the society.
I want to be in the outskirts and a mere observer
And I want to love someone - a child or an adult
And don't want to be loved back, for my self is
not accustomed to respect and being valued and loved.
Any other kind of love that is not complete acceptance
of me with my flaws, celebration of my
weakness and shortcomings, or someone finding comfort in me,
To fall short safely here, to find the space to expand and grow
Or just be. And me finding the same in their company -
the space where I can just be, and the space to grow
But a ridiculous thought that someone will find my company desirable
Where I am not being fake, crusty, but palpating, raw, and honest
And I have left that core years behind, putting on layers ever since
gaining consciousness of the world around me,
If only I could immerse myself in the world inside my head
And did not have the conflict to exist outside
And if at all, then only to perceive the people who are my kind.
Observe the rest from a great long distance.
They'll come my way if life is kind.
And I'll push them away and then pine
for them, because life is also random and absurd,
And I cannot be myself, always tearing apart between two worlds
And the outside world winning and crushing me
And I can't have things right, or as I want them to be
I can't go back and change things. But that is okay.
Right now I have to earn the means to keep living away from people
To afford my room and my solitude
To pay taxes in loneliness, to be indoctrinated to comfort
And buy meaningless, useless stuff
And discover every day how futile it all is.