Philosophy exists,
but where is the
change
in the world
meant to
accompany
it?

Humanity is blessed by the arts.
Drama, painting, drawing, music, writing—
all at our disposal to escape life,
to force
everything to the
back
of our minds
and only focus on what our
eyes
and
ears
receive, even if only for a few
minutes.

If I were to introduce
myself
I would say I am
Arla,
and my surname is
Young.
Though, if I were to introduce my
soul,
I would say I am
Vinn,
and I have
no surname.

Why do I find more
comfort
in the pen in my hand
and the tear stained paper before my eyes than real
people?
Real people with
mouths to comfort,
and empathy they
choose
not to use.
Why is it that
inanimate objects
have far more sympathy
than them?
Why does ink hold my hand,
but a person
won’t?

I live in
spite
of the fact that the
world
wants me
dead.

Sometimes all we want to hear are the words ‚You’re going to be okay.‘
even if we don’t believe it,
we wake up tomorrow and know
we want to
stay.