Poem.

I am so angry.

I'm angry at this world that I was thrust into, unwittingly. That we all are dragged into, not by choice.

Is it a gift? Is it?

I am angry that it feels like in order to survive this place, this world, this country, I need to feel less, see less, know less, care less.

It feels impossible to keep going otherwise, sometimes.

What is this place? Why is this place.

Living is so easy and so hard. For every solitary being.

Solitary.

Being.

I am so angry

about it.


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