A Daily Routine

Here we go again.

Always the same damn routine,

Over and over again for half an

infinity. We wake up;

open our eyes; open the window.

We look outside; suck in a mouthful

of oxygen before spitting out a

mouthful of carbon dioxide.

Why? Because that’s all we know

how to do. Ha, how awfully

destructive we are…

Alas, I state merely a fact. But

Wait, I digress. Let me get back

to the poem. After we get our

lazy backsides out of bed…

Then what? Oh yeah, we

complain. Complain about the

weather, the cat, the out-of-date

milk in the fridge. Complain

because the football team you

dedicate your entire existence to

is actually rubbish, but you continue

to support them anyway. Makes sense…

So, what now? You leave the house:

Go to work; school; the pub…

Or maybe you don’t. It makes no difference

really. Either way, you find a way to be

problematic. It’s human nature.

At work/school/the pub/home

[circle appropriate field]

you always wear the same outfit.

Beneath your garments of fabricated

Integrities, your caffeine-fuelled heart

pounds until it dies. Literally.

But also metaphorically, because you see

your heart is just dying to be heard,

but that rude little brain of yours interrupts.

Look at that woman in the baggy jumper.

Is that even a woman? Surely not…

It’s a little known fact that the human brain,

that slimy grey thing that sits in between

your ears, is stupid. Thick! Asinine!

Sorry, you probably don’t even know

what that last one means, do you?

Or maybe you do, but your brain certainly

doesn’t. AH! I digress again. Sorry!

While I’m on the subject of “sorry”,

that’s the next part of your schedule.

Apologize. Apologize. Apologize.

Sorry, repetition is ugly, right?

It’s true though: every single god-

damn day we apologize. For.


We don’t mean it, of course,

because humans don’t actually care,

so to speak, but we say it for the

hell of it. We just looooooove

the sound of our own voices. We’d

make out with them if we could, I bet.

Ew, gross. But apparently not as gross as

a man kissing another man. That’s what my

schedule says, anyway. Hate on love. Hate

on ethnicity. Hate on hate… Logical.

But logic doesn’t exist anymore, not since

some crackhead came along throwing

lies and double-standards around like

confetti at a wedding. Mr and Mrs

Sexist-Racist-Homophobe. It’s a

triple barrelled surname – it’d have a

few more barrels thrown on the end

but, you see, barrels cost money.

AND wood, and we just can’t

afford to cut down any more trees…

Wait, but what if Mr Sexist-Racist-Homophobe

is a woman? …

HA. HILARIOUS. Not in a million years…

God, I hate double standards.

Wait, I digressed again? Really? Sorry-

Hang on, we’ve passed sorry o’clock,

Now it’s half past ridicule and it’s time

To get mean. Not that we take any

notice to that, because it’s human nature.

Kick them down


                                     down until…


They died. But that’s the circle of life, right?

Survival of the fittest and what-not?


But still, it’s their own fault. They should

have conformed with society. Then

they wouldn’t have any targets drawn on

their backs and nobody would be tempted

to kick them. Survival-Amongst-Humanity 101,

people. Don’t you read?

Oh wait, this is the 21st Century. People don’t

read. They listen. Listen to

eBooks; Wikipedia; criticisms.

“Wow you’re ugly.”

“I know.” That’s it, wipe the dust

from your shoulder,

because they’re only saying it because

they have to. It’s part of their daily

schedule. And here we go again…

(April, 2016)

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