An excerpt from a poetry compilation i put together this past December, titled (un)filtered. This compilation continues to be a work in progress at the moment, however, this was a definite favorite of mine and I had to share it with you.
“you know,” she pauses and takes a drag
“every year we get older, everything we do sounds a lot less impressive on a headline.”
exhaling a cloud of thick smoke.
we are taking a break from procrastination and these are the conversations i find myself living for
“i mean…who gives a shit about a 20 year old writer? 14 year olds have millions of followers on Instagram”
i look at her and i can’t quite recognize the expression on her face
yesterday, a boy told me about the things he wants to accomplish with his life
and somehow it sounded a lot less stupid coming out of his mouth than it did mine.
every time i bring myself to talk about things i would like to accomplish,
i can hear the dream wrecker in me spit,
“well, doesn’t look like you’re doing any of this babe. Just give it up already.”
nothing could grab my attention more than he was in that moment.
there is nothing more fascinating on this earth
than the dynamic spark in someone’s eyes
when they talk about their passions and i,
for the first time in a long time,
don’t have to put in an ounce of mental and emotional energy into listening to him.
i just am.
and i find myself gravitating to the idea of him
at 80 miles per hour
and, oh do i sense a collision coming.
somewhere in the middle of his words
and my surprisingly less chatty internal monologue,
it hits me that we are just kids.
we are just kids growing up in the age of change
and not being able to keep up
a marathon is infinitely different to a sprint,
but somehow we forget to pace ourselves and instead just stop.
and i think of The Breakfast Club
and the line about how we’re all going to be like our parents
and how when you grow up “your heart dies”
and realize over and over again how striking this is to me
despite it being so blatantly obvious.
we’re just kids.
and maybe you never stop feeling like a kid.maybe I will always be sixteen at heart
and i don’t know whether that’s a success story of prevailing through all of the world’s shit or a complete nonevent.
we are in an age of figuring things out
where nobody has anything figured out
we scroll through the news and it’s all so predictable
yet none of it makes sense
we live vicariously through everyone’s picture perfect existence
while our lives continue without us in the picture
and the thing is, this is not even new
we think we figure things out as we go
but that self-absorbed notion implies everything around us is stagnant
as we mentally take notes for our “life for dummies” guidebooks
when, in fact, we can’t
once you know how to play the game
the rules have changed
or cease to exist
but you never quite know which is which.
some say success is a combination of work and luck
being in the right place at the right time
but can someone give me the odds, real quick?
what exactly are my chances here?
do I invest my existence into something without the slightest inkling of its chances of success?
that’s hardly calculated risk-taking at this point
and what about the work element?
do you grind your life away and get recognition when you’re in the dirt?
if it happened to Picasso why won’t it happen to me?
you learn to put these questions on hold.
so I go back to his voice
and I go back to her smoke
and for a little while, I revel in the specs of simplicity.