- Poetry -
Strange, how we struggle to be happy,
how we internalize ages of consciousness;
thinking that we are each our own island
that only I struggle for dominion over my own life
that you, of course, must have all your shit figured out.
Funny, how we grasp at anything that claims it will set us free.
With rapid action we chain ourselves to being free:
regurgitating media ideas of what it means to be happy,
believing that dropping paychecks on cell phone upgrades is a way out,
that spewing half-assed thoughts somehow is equal to consciousness;
led to believe that incessant Internet binging is an acceptable way of life,
that we don’t need real people; it’s okay to be an island.
But something is rotten in the state of these islands.
The stench of mental atrophy can’t be perfumed by any definition of free.
I can’t imagine apathy could ever birth life.
Yet, this mindless rat labyrinth is supposed to make us happy;
the robotic need to constantly compete is counterfeited consciousness.
They don’t mean for us to ever find our way out.
Then we’re sat in front of screens said to be windows to see out;
so that even if I feel like I’m in a cage, it looks like a tropical island.
Ignorance makes it easier for the worms to burrow into our sub-consciousness,
eating holes in brains till we believe we are free,
till we repeat to ourselves that, “things will make me happy”;
proving our full submission by spitting on life.
We consume “food” made in labs, not in life,
and get the shakes when we run out.
Getting us addicted makes them happy.
We float down lazy rivers between junk food islands;
Death supersizes your fries for free.
Tell me you’re in charge of your consciousness.
Forces abound that bind and Stockholm our consciousness
so we believe that virtual reality is real life;
that enslavement will set us free;
that comfort is more important than stepping out;
that we need newer and newer shit to decorate our islands;
that contentment doesn’t exist, just shut up and be happy.
But I want the enlightenment of true consciousness that calls us out,
that says, “Fuck that life! Swim out from your island!”
Because not one of us can be free until we define for ourselves what it means to be happy.
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© Alessandra Ragusin 2016-2020