My body
is changing
I feel it
my fingers
want to write
but spreadsheets are waiting
to be filled
with words no one
will ever read
I am
to meet expectations
of closed boxes
that measure human worth
with a ruler
and though I crumbled
a dried leaf
already turned to dust,
I see how many of Beksiński’s fears
still pull me
by the left trouser leg
I am at the bottom of the pyramid
breathing
rules
made in haste
by others
I am formed
by the system
while aware
of a self
spilling beyond its shape
my page does not fall
it wants neither
the left
nor the right side
Grief rises
in scattered pieces
I want to build something
that will be mine
and mine alone
from thought
from the will to exist
not from other people’s systems
that do not know
which drawer to place the belief in
that a person who falls
can stand up again
without pushing aside
the breath of others
May 18
May 18, 2026 at 4:11 PM UTC
My body
is changing
I feel it
my fingers
want to write
but spreadsheets are waiting
to be filled
with words no one
will ever read
I am
to meet expectations
of closed boxes
that measure human worth
with a ruler
and though I crumbled
a dried leaf
already turned to dust,
I see how many of Beksiński’s fears
still pull me
by the left trouser leg
I am at the bottom of the pyramid
breathing
rules
made in haste
by others
I am formed
by the system
while aware
of a self
spilling beyond its shape
my page does not fall
it wants neither
the left
nor the right side
Grief rises
in scattered pieces
I want to build something
that will be mine
and mine alone
from thought
from the will to exist
not from other people’s systems
that do not know
which drawer to place the belief in
that a person who falls
can stand up again
without pushing aside
the breath of others
Request permission to use this poem