Picture your typical cubicle office. Then add a bunch of publicists. It's an ad agency. It's booming and everyone looks so busy under the fluorescent light bulbs that give us no sense of what is going on outside--is it sunny? rainy? Is it night time? Who knows.
The mind rambles as the fingers start to type…
Ok. Let's just start writing and writing so people think you're doing something that matters.
Don't you love the sound of a keyboard? It means busy, successful and overall doing something and not just laying around doing fucking nothing.
Nothing is what I feel right now can't feel a thing can't recognize myself.
that person inside me that is trapped behind many unimportant things hoping to be accepted and confident to come out and take over this carcass of a body.
Let me keep typing keep writing keep staring at this screen I want to look like I am doing something like I am something.
something to be proud of a friend of.
I am quick and fast i finish things and get them done and then i stare at this blank screen.
look around i should be busy i should be doing something.
god forbid I am sitting alone without a phone god forbid I am not typing, typing typing typin typ ty t t t t t t t t t t t t t t.
the noise that makes me think I can pull it off I can fake it I can try to grasp any trace of identity.
identity based off of how others see me because I don't see a thing I don't feel a thing i don't know a thing.
grew up convinced I knew what to do convinced I am special convinced things were black and white.
but then who is this person I feel slipping away? this human designed by a religious community who manipulates but says it loves who worships the invisible but does not accept the very visible homeless out on the street.
grew up knowing i should be busy so others wouldn't ditch me how can you be rejected if you’re the one who is not available.
not available i am not to myself.