The Struggle (Poem)

The struggle is real. This is a poem about how difficult life can be, and how you just need to grab it by the horns and try not to let it kill you. It’s a couple of months old, but I like it. I think. Maybe.

 

Some people

struggle.

The human brain

won’t behave itself,

and people across the world

get laid up

in crazy situations,

from Asians to Latinos,

Africans to Europeans

and slightly racist,

warm-blooded,

hard-drinking,

fast-living

North Americans.

Life is hard

but you already

know that.

Mood altering medication

flies off the shelves

and into the hells

we create for ourselves,

and every single murder

is like a ruptured plate

in the human race;

every war

is a fault

in our foundations.

It’s like building up a fall

and falling down again,

the way great men fall

and waste their lives online

or heat up rocks

in a teaspoon,

it’s not for me

because it’s not for everyone.

Now I look around

for a face in the crowd,

but I still haven’t found

what I’m looking for.

My father said

I never will.