Step at a Time

 One step at a time
I push myself out into
A world I don't want

    Lately I keep missing the past. I didn't have such a good childhood, and I wasn't the kind of person who felt like we lost something when the internet came along, but there are times when I realize that the kids being born today will never see the world that I grew up in. They won't know what it's like to grow up thinking that history truly was in the past, that all we had to do was work past a few minor conflicts. I'd like to think that the world has changed for the better, somehow, but even if that was true, I'll never see the world of my childhood again. I'm not devastated, but I do feel a little sad. In a few decades, my world will mean nothing to people. How do you cope with something like that? 

Where Am I?

 I am not evil.
I am kind.
I am good.
I fight for what's right.
So why can't I seem to do the right thing?

I dream of a world
Where right and wrong
Are as different 
As night and day.

So why can't I see the right answer?

I don't know where I am.
Am I the person who does the right thing?
Am I the person who does what she wants
No matter the price others
Have to pay?

I can't be evil.
I need to be kind.
I need to be good.
I need to fight for what's right.

Because if I can't save the world,
Then what chance does everyone else have? 

    There are all of these goals that we're trying to achieve; becoming a more equal society, stopping environmental destruction, achieving world peace, and a lot of other things. What I wonder is what we'll do once we've achieved those goals. Saving our environment is lovely, but what if we could undo the damage, or even build something better? Will equality be all that we need to make sure everyone feels valuable? What if we peace is impossible? I've heard it said that we, as a species, can't think very far ahead. What if it turns out that, without new goals to work towards, we start unraveling the old ones just to give ourselves something to do? 

     When I was young, I used to retreat to a Universe that was like ours in every way, except only I could access it. I would go there to experiment with my appearance, wander around the empty streets near my house, or travel to far off places. As I grew older and more independent, I grew to rely less on my perfect world, and instead started trying to figure out what the closest thing to a Utopia we could build was. I picture a world where nobody has to work, everyone has a hobby, and there are large community gatherings every single day. It's not a whole, complete world, and even if I spend my entire life fighting for it, I know I couldn't possibly make it real. But I believe in it nevertheless. Every Dreamworld needs a beginning, and what better beginning could there be but a new version of heaven? 

A Choice

 Which would you rather be;
The writer,
Or the protagonist? 

    I realize that I'm much luckier than most, but I feel as though society has never made any effort to meet me halfway. They say the squeaky wheel gets the grease, but healthy relationships don't involve one side kicking and screaming in order to get what they want. I don't think society is attempting to meet anyone on their turf, and some are actively trying to alienate as many people as possible. 

Ideas

 I worry sometimes
About running out of ideas,
But then a story falls from the heavens.
I wish that I knew
How to pen a story
With my mind alone. 

     For as long as I can remember, I've had no desire to participate in society. Social interactions overwhelm and confuse me, and I lack the latent desire most people have to try and win people over. Lately, though, the fact that I have no desire to be a part of this world is starting to bother me. Even if I could be immensely rich, I just don't feel like I'd be happy unless I could avoid people at all costs. Yet most people seem perfectly happy to talk to others, at least in casual settings. Is it people I don't like? Or is it the world they live in? 

The Golden Chalice

 Heated until it melts,
Poured into a mold,
Can it be anything 
Other than what it was meant to be?

Useful only for show,
A demonstration of power
And greed.
It sits 
Doing nothing
And can only hold so much.

It is surrounded by others,
Cups and bowls
And things meant 
Only for utility.
Not unloved,
But unlike gold
They are rarely noticed.

Their existence
Is defined by their purpose,
Their usefulness
To the ones who made them
And the ones who claimed them
For their own use.

But unlike us
Gold can be melted down,
Remade,
Reshaped,
Used for another purpose
Then what it was originally meant 
To do.

Can we ever
Escape 
The mold we were poured into?