I can't stand this nonsense, this indifference  
this moat around the edge of my sight. My life.
I can't stand this overindulgence,
this unfettered decadence,
while the rest of the world isn't even given the privilege of weeping.
Of sleeping.
Of light.  
Insistingly,
I can't sleep - my dreams too a world without dreams.
An unfiltered montage of my insecurities playing out the reality I feel behind the forced optimism. The fanaticism,
for the smoothly ironed pressed.
Life.
I call out my own name -
behind the darkened and forgotten windowpane,
is the version of myself, angry, lonely and free.
Free of the freedoms that suffocate me.
Apparently I'm free to choose my fate,
my desk, my jacket, my dinner plate.
Yet where is the queue for self-expression?
For social justice? For unadulterated streams?
I am waiting, and getting rather impatient
with this facade
that we call 'the way it is.'