Ladies and gentlemen!
Step right up, step right in!
We’ve got deals for your dreams,
Sales on your soul—act fast, this offer won’t last!

It’s happening on Sunday, SUNDAY, SUNDAY!
We’re selling you purpose in bite-sized packets—
One-click, no mess, shipped express to your door.
Swipe right for self-worth,
Streamlined and sterilized,
Shrink-wrap with lies so tight
The freedom will explode out yer eyes.
They package the itch, they sell you the scratch,
A feedback loop of greed for **** you really don’t need
Until the pixels whispered: “maybe you’re incomplete?”
“Hey, no need to worry”, the advertisement assures
An app we’re making just for YOU, madam and/or monsieur!
I can’t help but sigh, and look away
“Another fkn monthly fee? Hmmmm, you don’t say…”

BUY NOW, THINK LATER!
Why wait and feel like trash?
Hurry up and upgrade, ya know, while supplies last?
Planned obsolescence will take you down in a flash.
Just keep’a running, like they’ll always do for your cash.

Your neighbor’s new car gleams like a mirror—
Not to admire, but to reflect what you lack.
Your happiness, monetized and momentarily delayed—
Don’t worry, we’ve got some payment plans for that.
Zero down, zero peace of mind, their hooks sink deep,
Probably looking for bodies, dragging lakes of our sleep
Bought a map for self-contentment, but the route’s under construction,
A platinum premium membership’s the only way it’ll function.

But wait! There’s more.
A lifestyle that screams success—
Filtered faces, curated meals, personalized workouts; THE BEST!
Illusion of choice sold on 118 labels, cleverly selling the same ****
Act now, and FREE for 30 days, you can try new nootropics!

They built the hunger and fed it back to us—
“Don’t be stagnant, don’t be still”,
Won’t be happy, can’t be fulfilled.
In this first world, first in line,
First to implode under the weight of wanting most.
Can’t feel gratitude when ads remind us—
Happiness is only on subscription, anymore.

BUY NOW, THINK NEVER!
They’ve got your thoughts on lease.
Run faster, climb higher,
Consume until you’re deceased!
Fkn, ***—BAG… IDIOTS!

They omit to mention, understandably so
Success for them is leaving us in the dark
By that logic it makes sense that they’re “all out of stock”
Self-worth is increasingly getting harder to hauck.
Still we gather, in hopes to support each other in some way
Right here, right now, a never ending ****** Sunday, Sunday, Sunday…
(I wrote this on a Sunday, btw)

When I was a child,
I was always told
I must colour inside the lines.

It was told to me
With such conviction
I was fearful to stray
Beyond those lines on the page.

I became quite okay with it then
As I had my colours
And thought little about
What it really meant.

But when I grew up,
I began to question the real purpose
Of those lines that constrained me.

Who put the lines there?
What is the reason for them?
Why shouldn’t I stray beyond them?

The answers came gradually
And two themes prevailed:
You must be compliant!
You must conform!

Like those lines on the page
That I mustn’t stray beyond,
Society draws the lines
To mark the norm.

It is safe inside the lines;
Society is pleased
Because you don’t break their rules.

Are you happy to comply?

[do you have a suggestion?]

my brother pauses, turning to me;
"because you're full of great suggestions,
but you always say them too late."

he means no harm by it,
yet how do i put a name to this silence?
shutting up in compliance?

       —i shoved cotton down my throat,
       now i can't breathe—

when did the echo become louder than the scream?
maybe it was vegas, twenty-nineteen.
maybe I was never allowed to dream.

how do i speak my voice back into existence then,
when i can no longer remember its sound?
whispers, snuffed out so many times i've lost count.

[i forget.]

puzzle me this, mr. jigsaw:
when did you cut me down?
why did i step on your block?
if i did, why would i bow my head
and trade my peace to you
to be another piece of you?

i know the rest: i was born dead
and life is what you poured for me
a glass of bitter shackles and a path
of brittle bravery

i walk your walk, i talk your talk,
i wear your shirt across too much gut
and not enough guts

i bob my head to your tune,
my heart beats to your beats,
my addiction is your beast,
the monkey on my back called
fitting in

Floating brazier spews electric amber waves
as a setting sun radiates on the ceiling
a shadow of a ship coquettishly sways
while in the center charybdis begins swilling

another message, another missed call
another debt collector and his esurient talk
watch the ship begin to swirl, this scene so banal
amber feathered tawny eyed peacock

continues furtively to scroll her story and shoe shop
crowded room with a panel onstage
reality and fantasy evaporate and fall as a single raindrop
drown in the muck, don't know how to disengage

and to stay in the sway of fantasy.

Many acts of generous offerings
Tender words of helpless mutterings
Expressing in words
Show of kindness
Didn't dismiss of a warm compassion
All have returned of pure compliance

the stones are thrown
the flock transforms
from sheep to wolves
to eat their own

no more
i can't do it

you can't understand
how much strain i put on my mind just to make you happy
and in the end
you only make.......
see?
i'm afraid to even say how i feel
on a poem you may never read
because if you do
you may find out
and resent me

that is much like our conversations
filtered again and again
watching my every word
just
to
make
you
happy.
i'll do it a million times a day
and yet it doesn't make me feel any better about myself.

no more
i can't do it

i'm willing to do anything for you
that doesn't mean i should.
if i did what i should;
would i let you do what you want,
much like the incubi of my past?
would i silence myself,
just to hear a bittersweet sentence from your mouth?
would i sacrifice my time, my precious time, which i had promised for life's responsibilities?
no. but i don't do what i should, so it's okay.

or is it?

...

no more
i can't do it