Pretend Progress

I have met the future.
I have shook its hand as warmly
As if it were an old friend.
It greeted me with such sentimentality
That I could not believe
I ever feared it.
For I have feared it, the cloak of the unknown that it travels in,
I have always feared the future,
Because I have always feared not knowing.

I am a known procrastinator,
Preferring to store things in time to come rather
Than buckling down and accomplishing them.
I like to pretend
That I will get them done one day.

One day, a mythical time so far away
That we start to believe that what is plaguing us
It’s not actually our problem.
As long as we say
It’ll be accomplished one day,
We fake our own progress,
Pull the wool down over our own eyes
As we give ourselves pats on the back
For things we haven’t even done yet.

Martin Luther King Jr. had a dream,
And that dream was that one day
Children of every race would play together.
John F. Kennedy had a dream
That one day we would go to the moon.
Cancer patients and their families still have a dream
That one day there will be a cure for this devastating disease.

And I refuse to be afraid of the future for another minute.

Because “one day” is happening now.
It’s happening today.
Why wait for something
That is occurring as we speak?
Why hold onto a dream
When you can go out and make it a reality?
Why wait for one day when you could
Take the initiative
And make the change?
We are the future.

The Space of Nowhere

Sometimes, I get stuck
Reflecting on everything I once was
And I get trapped
Contemplating everything I could be.
I’m lodged, unmoving
In what I like to call
The space of nowhere,
Where sheer panic grips me so tightly
That I can’t let go of the past
And I can’t stumble towards the future.

First things first,
Let us safely establish that the time
Which we have fondly named “the present”
Simply does not exist.
It is an imaginary fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a second
That it impossible to ever touch.
There goes the present and there goes the present and there it goes and there it goes and there it goes
So quickly for as soon as you recognize its happening
It’s cemented in the past.
And that is no way to live.

Yet when I yearn towards a future
Working towards something that does not yet exist
Planning from my bubble in the space of nowhere
Not all my compulsive presumptions
Of every obsessive fear
Will ever cover all the scenarios
That I could never think of.
And that is no way to live either.

So what I will do is plant my feet firmly in the past I know
Reaching towards a sky of possibilities
That dances just outside the span of my fingertips.
Just far enough that I can wonder
What it would be like outside my space of nowhere
But just close enough
To keep my striving for the stars.

Outside Looking In

How can they do that?
Float so
Through the world,
Radiating charm and sophistication.
Perfection is their middle name
They can’t use it as a goal
Any longer.
They bask in the glow
Of their own smiles while a
Chill slices through
My insecurities.
What are they thinking?
What are they thinking?
They’re looking at me.
I am petrified with
As I look onto a world
Where I
Will never

A Tangible Perspective

I see the world,
And I feel it.
Whether it be a new acquaintance
Or a new ice cream flavor,
It dances across my skin
In a pattern I have never experienced before.
I have shaken hands with many strangers
And no two people are the same.
No two letters are the same.
No two numbers.
Nor two colors.
But how I am supposed to explain to you,
That the letter A is a determined girl,
Or that the color green is a boy, feisty yet relaxed?
How I am to convey
How the number 4 feels about 6,
And that all he needs is his wingman 2
To tell her how much he likes her?
It’s difficult to show my perspective
To a world of people who don’t understand
That G and H have made a beautiful family together,
And that 3 is the most obnoxious person I have ever met.
Because when I say I’m feeling purple today,
People respond, “No, dear. The expression is ‘I’m feeling blue’.”
But I am not feeling blue.
Sometimes I feel like purple,
Or like the letter C,
Or like 7 and 13 have gotten together to have a tea party.
Sometimes L delivers flowers to the people she loves
And sometimes 5 ruins everything
And sometimes yellow fights with blue
With green caught right in the middle.
I view the entire world in a completely different perspective
As I feel everything grace my skin,
Though it doesn’t mean I’m wrong.
Yet why so often do I feel like Z,
The beautiful, headstrong leader so long forgotten?
Whenever I feel this way,
I just remember,
That baby I is going to grow up to be a strong man one day,
And that red and blue make the most beautiful baby girl.
How the marriage of 7 and 10 was a grandiose occasion,
And how quaint the twins M and N look
On a spring day.

How when 4 is paired up with 2
He falls in love all over again.

Sincerely Yours

He left her a letter.
It was short,
Maybe five sentences.
But that doesn’t matter.
She read the letter.
Each and every word
Cut her soul apart.
But what it said doesn’t matter.
Because in maybe five short sentences
He obliterated
A lifetime of possibilities.
She cried over the letter.
So did he.
Though, he’d never admit it.
But that doesn’t matter.
He wrote maybe five sentences.
He made a bomb.
He blew up the future.
His handwriting was steady.
The ink bled with her tears.
It was signed sincerely yours.

She never forgot him.
He never moved on.
It was signed sincerely yours.

One Year Later

It’s time to celebrate!

Today, On Hating People is one year old!

A lot has happened this past year, and I just want to thank each and every one of you who stuck around to see exactly where my erratic thoughts were going to go. I love each and every one of my followers and I thank everyone who commented or liked anything I posted. It makes me feel so wonderful to know I have such a supportive community when it comes to my writing, especially when I don’t believe it’s the absolute best.

So happy birthday, On Hating People.

May there be many more years to come.

To Reflection, With Love

Dear reflection,

I realized,
Looking in the mirror today,
That you are not the girl
Who looked back at me
Your eyes are darker,
More hollow,
As though the life has been sucked from them.
The windows to your soul are empty.
Your skin,
Paler and more sallow than before,
Is covered in so many blemishes
That trying to conceal them
Is a laughable not laudable effort.
You’re slipping, and
I could swear
I could see the cracks
Breaking out across your glassy facade.
I could swear
You heard my heart shatter.
You’re worrying me, you know.
One person can only take so much.
Yes, darling.
Even you.
So when I see you again tomorrow morning,
Earlier than either of us would like to consider,
I hope that those circles below your eyes have
Disappeared without makeup.
I want you to shine again.
Even a little bit at a time.