taxes

the days pass, and I doubt I'd notice if not for folding cranes. I work lots now. the sun comes out and goes down again while I press keys and send emails. I drink a lot of tea and wear cloves to keep my hands warm. the work distracts me from the understanding that nothing is really within my control. I make lists and complete tasks. I go to bed and then I do it again when I wake up. sometimes I try to create something, to write a poem or draw a portrait I'm proud of. but at the end of the day the blank page scares me - I am tired, and feel so ridiculously far from both inspiration and being capable of creating anything of any quality or meaning. I worry that I've ran out of stories, or forgotten how to find them.

despite hating mirrors and striving to be better, I still tie myself in knots over how I'm perceived. my perceptions of other's perceptions of me weigh me down, even in the face of the knowledge that I mean nothing in the face of a world that makes such little sense. I watch bombs destroy cities and read facts and figures on my phone and cry without really weeping or making a sound. the anger is confused as it festers and I still participate in the human project. I go to work and my taxes fund the bombs used to slaughter children in their thousands. I am a cog in the machine. does my awareness of the part I play mean anything?

I think of people I love. sometimes I spend time with them. I can hold and hug them and my heart is warm. I think of people I miss. I wonder where they are now, and hope they're happy. I think of who I want to be, and remind myself that doesn't matter. I think of the way the world is, and I'll cry again. so it goes.