hard truths

oh boy, truths, huh? you had to ask.
and SIMPLY, too? jesus fucking christ

you already know that you’re going to die;
about the ugliness of unfettered capitalism,
and about the endless, senseless ubiquity of
a boot stamping on a human face, forever.

those aren’t the hard truths.
those are the impersonal truths.
they are more like the ‘avalanche’ truths,
and you’re just a single solitary snowflake
so what the fuck can you do?

but here’s what REALLY hurts, kid.

you will never be everything you can be.

nobody will ever completely fulfill or satisfy you.

you will always be tired and hungry and scared and lonely.

sure, you can marry the love of your life
and you’ll learn that marriage is hard and boring still.

you can get the job of your dreams
and you’ll find yourself plagued by your own incompetence.

you can get a home of your own,
but you’ll still feel trapped and hate the the neighbourhood.

you can do that thing you think you love,
but you know the odds aren’t great that YOU’LL be great.

you can surround yourself with friends,
but even discussing these truths provides little relief.

you can read and learn as much as you can,
but knowing that you’re on the tracks
doesn’t stop the train.

you asked for the truth, kid.

the truth is that it’s miserable out there,
and that it’s miserable in here,
and the worst damn thing is
nobody has the gonads
to really, really, really
really talk about it.

people walk around with cancer and impotence and divorces
and abortions and hysterectomies hanging over their heads,
but they’ll post travel pics and instagram their cappuccino.
false advertising and misrepresentation isn’t the villain,
it’s woven into our bloody DNA. It’s who we really are.
we are the bullshitters and we reap what we sow.

maybe you’ll write some pretty words about it
and maybe people will think “wow, I relate”
and you’ll get some likes and shares.
but none of that makes a difference.
you’re going to get out of bed, get
showered, get on the MRT,
and the cycle continues.
until it doesn’t.

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