Oh What a Year to be 33

I’m not used to the muscle anymore.
The brain corresponding with fingers
that muscle in between.
Writing is rusty.
Haven’t written something
for myself in 5 months.
Too much going on.
Lost my job again.
Lost the job that I hate.
Don’t understand what a job is for.
Don’t understand what money is for.
Don’t understand what things are for.
Don’t understand why I still can’t just make this and be fine.
Maybe I’ve been rebelling then?
Maybe my subconscious is saying
that if I can’t live on this,
then I just won’t do it at all.
Because what’s the point?
What is the point
if I always have to put so much
negativity in the world
in order to make money.
That I have to let it suck
my soul away
because I can’t “profit”
on my heart.

I know that’s a bit whiny.
I know that I am privileged
as a white, cis-gender,
heterosexual, male
and that my bad day
is someone else’s Nirvana.
I know this
because I have friends
who currently fear
for their lives
when they walk outside.
I have friends
who are slowly
getting attacked
by politicians
and media-types.
I have friends
that are homeless
and possibly
going to jail
because they
were in the wrong place
at the wrong time
and decided to
insult a Cop.
I have friends
that are all over the world
fighting in one way or another.

And here I am
struggling to get another job.
Here I am
afraid at the idea
of having to move back
to my cushy home on Long Island
to live with my parents.
Because of pride.
No…it’s not pride
it’s fear of being alone.
It’s fear that no woman
will ever want someone
that goes through this struggle.
Because I’ve been brainwashed.
I’ve been taught
from the youngest of ages
that no woman would ever start dating
a man without a job.
Because men are supposed to be providers.
Men are never supposed to be weak,
or insecure,
or emotional,
or sad.
Men are ironically
not supposed to be Human.

And I’ve never known what is real.
I have forever asked myself that question.
How do I know what is real?
How do you know what is real?
And there are so many limits to language.
I know I’ve spoken of this all before,
but haven’t come to many conclusions.
But maybe I have now
you can’t get to reality through language.
No, I have said this before after all
that it is the in-betweens
the white-spaces between the words
that hold meaning
But maybe even that is futile
that we are all slaves of our own perceptions.

If a man comes to a fork in the road
the first thing he needs to ask himself is,
“Am I real?”
And then,
only through a life-time of questions that follow,
may he come to decide what path to take.

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