The Prisoner

 You may think you're in control.
You may think that you're in charge,
But we the rulers of your Dreamworld
Insist
That your power is ours alone.

     I'm told that for most people, becoming an entirely different person depending on what group of people you're with feels natural and intuitive, but it's never felt natural to me. No matter who I'm with, I feel like I have to cut off parts of myself just to fit in. I know what people expect me to do, but whenever I do it I know that I'm lying just to be accepted, and the moment they find out that I'm not who I say I am, I'll be cast out. They don't care about me. They care about a carefully constructed illusion they live in that says that everyone else is like them. Someone who can only pretend to be them, but who looks perfectly human otherwise, is an affront to that illusion. By existing, I put their world at risk whenever I have to enter it, yet I'm not allowed to not live in it at all. I shouldn't have to lie in order to stay alive. 

The Puzzle

 Some say the world is a story,
or is it a puzzle?
How does one describe the act of taking
Bits of reality and putting them together?
What does one do when the pieces don't lock together?

Why is so much of the world ugly and broken?
Why is evil the only thing that makes it whole?
Is our world so awful that goodness can't save us?
What happens when you can't stand
How the pieces fit together?

When a story is written, it feels complete.
When a puzzle is complete, a picture comes into view.
Life will never be that way as long as we are living it.
I know this, but I never thought about how much I hated it.
Until now.
Now the world has become a puzzle
That will not fit together.
Now the world has become a story
That can never be told.
How does one live a life without meaning? 

     I wish there was a way to know what it would take for me, the individual, to change the world. That way, I'd always know for a fact that I could change it for the better, or for the worse, so on the days when I want to be normal, I don't have to do anything at all. 

    I think that someday we'll find out that the strongest power humanity has is the ability to make anything that isn't real, real, and destroying anything that used to be real. It will then be up to us to see that we use our power for good. 

An Old Website

 Memories of an ex-lover
Soar in my mind,
Oh, my, how high we once flew. 

     I think it's safe to say that we're in denial about the state of X. By insisting on calling it Twitter, we're pretending it's still a living breathing organism capable of thought, not an undead zombie that knows nothing but infernal hunger. When we use the word Twitter we claim that Elon Musk cannot destroy Twitter, that he can't kill us and revive us to use for his own twisted ends. But we cannot deny the truth, he is a monster, infecting our world with curses that were never meant to be unleashed on humanity, purely so he can harness our fear and power. He sees us, the humans who use X, as nothing more than slaves, beings without agency, incapable of things like love, joy, or kindness. He claims he did not know the dangers of what he was doing, but he lies. All of us who wish harm upon others think that we'll be spared, until our curses come back to haunt us. 

Anxiety

Am I dying? 
Am I in danger of losing everything?
Is that small pain I feel the sign of something worse?
Or am I just trapped in raging fire
Of fear and insanity? 

   I am officially done with X, the corpse formerly known as Twitter, and I'm writing this publicly for all to see so that I can be held accountable when/if I find myself crawling back in moments of weakness. I realize that for most people it's not that easy, but I figure that if I leave, that might be the catalyst for other people leaving, and if enough people leave, X will either change or get killed off for good. Either way, we'll be safe from the stench of Twitter's maggot infested corpse, and we now know that anything Elon Musk touches becomes infected with the decay of society. We do this right, Twitter, forever known as X, becomes a lesson to all; don't let the infected near what you treasure, or you'll be the one who gets killed. 

The Road to Fame

 The road to fame is paved with regret.
You either wish you'd started sooner,
 or you wish you'd never started at all.
But sooner or later, at some point in our lives,
all of us start seeking fame and fortune. 
Some of us want to be known by all,
Other's just want to be know to our friends,
But one way or another we all become famous.

To have fame is to have everything, or so I've been told.
To be known is to have power, and to have power 
is to have everything. 
Then why, I wonder, do so many celebrities complain?
Is it privilege, or is it the feeling that they'll never escape 
The public eye? 
Is there a famous person who feels they got what they wanted?
Do they feel the price was too high?

Why seek out fame, I wonder, if the price is that one cannot be forgotten?
Do all of us secretly wish for unhappiness,
Or do we simply not wish to know the truth?
All I know is that to be unknown is to be unwanted,
Forgotten,
Abandoned by one's fellow humans.
Nobody wants to admit it,
but fame is the price one has to pay for love.
If one cannot be loved,
Than fame will never come.