A Poem: Gatherers

When you look at me, what do you see? Do you see the reality that I’m not who I want to be? Do you see the epitome of self-deficiency? Are you worried or are you angry? I’m not who I used to be. I’m a different person. I’m new and I’m different and I’m young and I’m angry. Look at my hands and feet and see the evolution between you and me. Look at my face and see the person that I could be. Look at my hair and see the fur that time could never seem to care for. Look at my arms and legs and imagine the trees I could climb as my imagination expands into an unimaginable and untangible existential existence.

One year, two years, one hundred years, two billion years, and a pocket full of doubt. I could never scream loud enough to let my frustrations out. Where is the truth when the both of us can’t seem to shut our mouths and expand on ideas of love. Where will I ever learn to let go of nihilism and expand on the ideas that now is enough? Draw the line and divide the classes, politics, and every other construct but don’t downplay my humanity. Empathy has turned into apathy and quite strangely I see that fact that very little is needed of me. Maybe I’m a carbon sack of meat to contribute to meaningless, and maybe I’m a rotting soul dying to see the reality of home. Maybe I’m an untangible existential existence.

You can call me a heretic, you can call me a bigot, you can call me a bastard, and you can call me a bloody mess, but look into my eyes and see my existence and realize that I am human too. If the greatest of these is love, then why do you speak in tongues only to bring a menacing gossip and judgment? If the greatest is love, then why do you point fingers instead of taking off your royal garment? If the greatest is love, then why do you do everything but love and spit hateful rubbish? I don’t know the answers to these things, but your two-faced gospel makes me want to leave this mess and find happiness. I’m not perfect and neither are you, but it’s obvious there are a few elephants in the room.

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