During quarantine and during these terrifyingly uncertain moments, time seems to be weighing down on me, and most likely others, more heavily than usual. I check the clock more frequently than I ever have in the past. Some days it goes too slow and others it goes too fast. I can never truly catch a break, I can never truly catch my breath. But one thing I have learned throughout this constant whirlwind is that no one will ever understand me quite like I understand myself, and that I think I am finally okay with that. Additionally, the poem being recited in the background is that of Robert Herrick, titled “To The Virgins, to Make Much of Time”. It discusses the concept of time and how uncertain our lives are when tied with each passing minute/hour/day/year.

i can’t remember the last time i felt free its just been my passions and i, the imposter of course, and my anxiety i’m lucky to just be locked up with my thoughts, the daily, and a slice of pie its just like being quarantined with the terrors of the night it’s been so long since i’ve socialized or flirted or hugged that when our local grocer asked how i was doing i just anxiously shrugged although, to be fair, my friends and i check in with one another while the question of when we’ll meet again ominously hovers at night, two faceless beings stare back at me like a shrine both kill off the innocent yet both know no crime from my screen i sign, share, and give all that i can then i selfishly wonder when i’ll feel like a kid again when will i feel like a kid again? i miss being naive and foolish even though i often dealt with the bullshit from kids with pale skin about how my eyes were small, my nose too flat so i learned to write well to compensate for being quiet in class in the back where i sat the elders said we could make a change and take a stand but i wonder if they just don’t want to directly deal with what’s at hand and yet here we are at the cusp of adulthood, a revolution on our minds while our parents nag about settling down and finding a nice guy humanity’s falling apart, the environment is melting to our knees somehow we’re at risk because of murder hornets, but how are the bees? are they okay? are they safe? they don’t reside in my grandma’s backyard anymore there are none left for me to chase when will i feel like a kid again? i’ve been busy questioning the so-called land of the free ever since i wrote a paper on plastic pink flamingos and the american dream the bird drags this the flock with a chip on his shoulder and a crick in his neck from looking down on those who haven’t had legal background checks meanwhile, there are countless children in cages and in yemen, who are in poor health and have been seemingly been forgotten by our commonwealth when will they get to feel like kids? despite missing the feeling of my adolescence i still spend my nights restless, trying to get a sense of whether or not, at any point in my lifetime i’ll ever see unity and love, without reservations so i don’t have to rhyme to make a point or tastefully yell and cry because that’s how the cookie crumbles, right? or is this just a bedtime story we’ll sugarcoat to shield the young ones from the reality that is the terror of the night? if so, i hope they won’t look back wanting to feel like kids again resources: -blm http://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co -lgbt rights http://lgbtqpl.carrd.co -trans rights http://trans--rights.carrd.co -yemen crisis http://yemencrisis.carrd.co -free palestine http://helppalestine.carrd.co -hong kong https://standwithhongkong.carrd.co/ -philippine terror bill https://junkterrorbill.carrd.co/