May 16, 2021

136/365

all i can do
is sit in this
single moment,
naming each
emotion as it falls
as a disparate stone
into this yawning well;
echoes and ripples
disrupting the otherwise
silent gloaming.

desperate to detach from
the need to control,
attachment being
the root of suffering,
or so they say.

it is loud
to hear
what we
are silent about,
but what can
privilege
possibly have
to worry about?

the world
is collapsing
in on itself
in the gaza strip,
and i may have
to do my job
via a computer
for a few weeks.

echoes and ripples.
single moments.
disparate stones.
yawning wells.
the gloaming.
a collapsing world.
the root of suffering.
the need to control.

it is loud
to hear
what we
are silent about:
the sound of oppression
is booming.

all i can do
is sit in this
single moment
and selfishly
write about
myself again
instead of them.

what can
privilege
possibly have
to worry about?

myself again instead of them.
myself again instead of them.
myself again instead of them.
 

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