I am full of heavy words. Some are heavy in my heart, my stomach, my mind, my shoulders, they all bear weight so cumbersome that I have to let them out. For a while, I couldn’t convey myself properly. I began to spend hours at a time on social media trying to find ways to release. But I need poetry and prose. Those were my first loves. Even now, I feel uninspired and inadequate to even string letters together. But I am looking to win my love back--writing. I’m here to get her back.

We were all lied to. That those in need are needy because there’s not enough to go around. We say this half-wittedly while we throw away out leftover food and donate clothing to the needy. Seedy politicians sew trees of lies, blocking the sun to feed themselves, no light in sight. Billionaire blowhards evade their civic duties and instead sketch dreams of a life in space. Using the money that might restore an already habitable planet to inhabit a new one. We watch with enthusiasm and curiosity in our eyes as megalomaniacs confidently say that soon “we” will make it to Mars. We. As though they’re bringing me there. A near-thirty year old college dropout who hasn’t amounted to anything. What will happen to me and the other Mes when they go? Will be become slaves? Will we be left for dead? I imagine a future where we’re all either sent to code camps or mines, programming the comptuers or digging for metals and oil for the billionaires we admire and worship. Our admiration for wealth will kill our grandchildren, as it’s killing children all over the world, every day. I fear we’re making a mistake, admiring it all. Is anyone listening?