21st century poet speaks

eThoughts

I'm so bored of my ceaseless mortality

I'm so bored of my tireless humanity

Weariness already weighs on my shoulders

Indifference has seeped into my marrow

My blood thick with static

I'm sick to my stomach of this constructed realism

Of these plasticized people we are fed

My mouth is constantly sour

My ears are full

Check the checkbox it won't check itself

As we are sold

A hundred different ways to fake genuineness

And I'm tired

Tired tired

These constants need to cease

These ceaseless constants need to change

I want the earthy crush of dirt between my teeth

And the brutal roughness

Of grit and stones and sand lined fingernails

What happened to flaws? And all the filthy realness that came with them?

Dragged and dropped into the trash

With the rest of our human experience

Suckled on outlets and incubated by wires

Such a thin brew we are fed so young

But who cares? Who needs it.

Reality is for suckers.

There's probably an app for it by now

by Bryn McCutcheon ©2014