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weather, the cat, the out-of-date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
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…