Imagine a world
no different than our own
except that
everything was sexualized.
Where women were criticized,
for how they dress
Where women were blamed
for the crimes of men.
Where men were pressured
to be what they’re not,
Where men were demeaned
for respecting women.
Imagine a world
no different than our own
except that
everything was divided.
Where whites fought with blacks,
over basic rights,
Where democrats fought with republicans
for not seeing eye-to-eye,
Where women fought with men,
for equality they deserve,
Where countries fought with countries,
for greed, power, and prestige.
Imagine a world
no different than our own
except that
life was fleeting.
Where people only lived
for limited years,
Where time was squandered
on things that don’t matter.
Where people were consumed
by greed, power, and prestige,
Where life was controlled
by the quest for more.

Imagine a world
no different than our own.

I miss you.
Again.
I miss how you used to send me
those stupid gifs,
to distract me
from life.

I want you.
Again.
I want you back by my side
talking, laughing,
making me feel
whole at last.

I need you.
Again.
I need you, but this time
you’re not here,
and it hurts more
than ever before.

I miss you.
Again.
I miss you every morning,
and every night;
at every silence,
I break apart.

Again.

Sometimes I try to remind myself
that all good things
must end.
Sometimes I try to persuade myself
that I’ll never lose
the memories.
Sometimes I try to tell myself
that all I need is
to move on.
Sometimes I try to force myself
to forget how happy
I was then.

Sometimes I try to convince myself
that I’ll meet another
like you.

I wonder why it never seems to work.

I used to be able to write poems.

I could make them rhyme,
make them happy,
make them sad.
I could make them flow,
make them float,
make them feel.

I could put into words
everything I felt,
everything I knew.
I could pour my heart out
onto the paper,
onto the screen.

But then something changed.

I lost the spark that I had,
that inspiration,
that drive.
I lost the thing that kept me going,
that encouraged me,
that pushed me on.

I lost the one who made me laugh
when I was tired,
when I wanted to quit.
I lost the one who told me to write
when I was out of ideas
when I was frustrated.

I lost the one who made writing worthwhile.

I lost you.

I used to be able to write poems;
Now, I just feel them.

Love doesn't mean anything anymore.
Love is a word that pre-pubescent adolescents
throw away on their very first kiss.
They take a crush, and they call it love, and no one
reprimands them or scolds them because no one
can see that there is any difference any more between
love and the half-hearted pretence at love -
the newfound infatuation with the very idea of
being enraptured by the very first person seeming
worthy enough to be enraptured by.

And hate. Hate means nothing either.
Hate is the feeling little children scream at their parents
when they couldn't wear a leotard to school in December.
Hate is when people take a notion,
a preconception, a misconception of what an
emotion should feel like and they take the worst
feeling they are feeling and they label it hate
and they proclaim hate on their 'haters' and
they forget that they are 'haters' themselves when
they laugh at the real hate they dole people out on dinner plates.

Jealousy? Jealousy has been eclipsed.
Jealousy has been eclipsed by the lack-lustre attempt
at jealousy that ten-year old girls have for their friends.
Jealousy now is what people feel when they
realise that they don't have enough money, or fame,
or friends to truly feel good about themselves even though
these things are entirely human constructions
and seeing as no one on this planet has yet to do a
**** to affect the universe anyway, the universe should be
jealous of us for having such care-free lives.

Some people claim they feel rage, but anger's dead.
Rage is the thing to pretend to feel when the
world realises it doesn't revolve around anyone and
actually revolves around the sun.
Rage is like a rushing tidal wave of the opposite
of melting sunsets eating the horizon and generally
it's a lot less pretty unless you see a macabre
sort of beauty in war and politics and education because
education is the big thing we should really be angry about
because wouldn't true ignorance be bliss?