I feel a grim satisfaction as mud splatters on my white shoes.
What an appropriate metaphor for early adulthood.

My problems are not my own.
The sociological imagination has never
seemed so applicable.
We’ve all been dosed up
On dashes of passion,
splashes of intelligence
and just enough anxiety and depression
to approach existential nihilism and
We’re fed these lies of individuality but
We Know
we are only products of our youth and culture,
ones of many in the long production line
We claim
We are Art,
but We Feel
we’re just generated from streams of code,
prepared to fight to the death for
some algorithm that doesn’t even matter
And so I protest
I can’t just be a number
I am flesh and blood,
my knees are buckling under the
weight of this artificial perfection.
I’m not just a number,
My eyes are staring at the
the marks that
determine my worth, knowing
success is my only option
i am not just a number
My sanity is sinking and
drowning and
constantly fighting to stay afloat
But I am not just a number. -
My mind tells me I’m not making it--
How are these other people making it?
I’m determining my worth
on sets of standards that are as worthy as dust
And it is with these standards i am told
I am just a number.

I feel like
I can no longer speak
because I’ve been
shouting
at the top of my lungs
I AM NOT JUST A NUMBER

But my voice
is too quiet
And the world
is too loud.

I’m so tired of trying to be heard.
Yet these words still sound better
when I scream them,
not just scrawl them down
on scraps of paper.


for someone so happy
I'm so very angry.
for someone so happy
I'm so very sad.

Somehow the time just slips away
And today becomes yesterday
I just need to get away
Stop everything and breathe.

I feel myself wearing thin
Always showing a fake grin
Yet inside I’m caving in
I’m stuck and I can’t breathe.

I used to be so full of bliss
How did things come to this?
I’m drowning in the abyss
All alone and I can’t breathe.

I tell myself to hold on
Just stay strong until the dawn
Then all of this will be gone
And I’ll be free to finally breathe.

This is not a love story.
When our eyes met
And we felt that spark,
That connection,
We smiled.
I did not go over and talk to you
And you did not giggle
At my poor attempts to be suave.
You did not twirl your hair
Or look down at the ground
As I complimented your eyes.
We did not strike up a conversation
As we stood in line at the supermarket.
You didn’t tell me the chicken and potatoes were a special treat for your little sister,
And I didn’t admit that my top ramen was the only thing I could cook.
I didn’t offer to carry your bag,
And you didn’t give your number in return.
I didn’t call you after the appropriate number of days.
We didn’t go out for coffee
And I didn’t get to hear your life story.
I didn’t get to smile at your blush
As you admitted you had a thing for Harrison Ford.
I didn’t get a chance to smile and cheekily say that I did too.
We didn’t have that first kiss,
So clumsy and so awkward,
Yet perfect.
We didn’t go out on a second date,
Or a third
Or tenth,
Or a hundredth.
We didn’t go back to that coffee shop
And I did not get down on one knee
And get to hear you say yes.
We didn’t bicker about wedding details
I didn’t get to tell you that I hated red velvet
And that it was impossible to get Ed Sheeran to play at our wedding.
I didn’t feel my heart flutter as I waited at the alter
And I didn’t get that high of seeing you in that white dress
Smiling your shy smile.
You didn’t walk down the aisle.
There were no vows
No declarations of love.
We didn’t get to say I do.
There was no wedding kiss
No wedding dance
No honeymoon.
We didn’t buy a house.
We didn’t name our first child Harrison.
Times never got hard,
And things never seemed close to breaking.
We never fought.
We never reconciled.
Our children never went to college,
And we never got grandkids of our own.
We didn’t celebrate our 10th anniversary
Or our 20th.
Our 60th.
I didn’t get to hold your hand
As the doctor diagnosed Alzheimer’s.
I didn’t take you to your plethora of doctor visits.
You didn’t forget my name.
You didn’t forget Harrison’s name.
I never held your hand as you degraded right before me.
I didn’t shed a tear as I heard your last breath
And I didn’t kiss your forehead one last time before they took away.
We didn’t have a wonderful life together.
We didn’t have a life together.
All because when I met your eyes at the grocery store
In line with our chicken, potatoes, and top ramen,
I didn’t take a chance.
You went on your way and I went on mine.
This is not a love story.