I sit and stare at my screen
Trying to find the words to say
But to tell all that I’ve seen
Well… I’ve only got a day

For every finger we point
There are three pointing back
At us for our inadequacies
And corresponding fallacies

They push you to the edge
Only to knock you down
Then blame you for being on the cliff
When they nudge and you crash and burn

Instead of changing minds
My actions are seen as crimes
Being different comes with a price
One I’m paying with my life

No one seems to see
That society creates agony
The amount of negativity
A result of truths unseen

Unseen to the average human
Sheltered in their comfort zones
Safety nets of their construct
Phased by life’s cyclones

All that we perceive
We trust the concrete
All that we can see
Is our defined reality
We fear the unknown and the unseen
For it unravels our insecurities
Everything we think we perceive
The lies we’re taught to believe
The person we’re told to be
Is a manifestation of all that is
A social construct – a mythical bliss

A Decade

Searching to find myself

But all I find is you
I can hardly stand myself
So what am I to you?
~Imagine Dragons~

Midnight struck and he was still roaming the streets, trying to find his way home. He’d taken a different route tonight, one that he hadn’t frequented for almost a decade. Much had changed since he’d last set foot in that area, and he still remembered it as a construction site – a section of the train station that was still amid the process. A decade ago, he’d sat on the concrete underneath the stairs, listening to his MP3 player, waiting for the bus. His friends would be frolicking around on the pavement, doing whatever it was fifteen year olds did to keep themselves busy.

A decade ago was a different era – although this generation had only just set foot in the twenty-first century, the build-up of the two decades prior had led to this moment: him, sitting in the shade with a device small enough to pass as a lighter, containing around thirty songs. This generation which had turned the intangible into something tangible – music at your fingertips, any time, anywhere – and that was his spot, every Saturday afternoon at around half three.

Now, a decade later he set foot down those stairs he once adored, but the unfamiliarity of the new structure threw him off for a moment, and he fumbled down the stairs in utter confusion. The concrete on which he used to sit had been converted into a power generator (or so said the sign), the pavement had been paved and smoothed out, and the road which the bus always took looked much longer and further in hindsight. Perhaps he really was that much smaller, physically, a decade ago…

For once, however, he stopped to ponder more on the change in his surroundings and society rather than changes in himself, for it was at that moment when he saw the parallels between the modernised structure and the structure of his own life. It dawned on him that every construct can be destroyed (or modified). That vision which was usually so self-aware suddenly became peripheral vision – a moment when he realised that he cared more about the great wide world than what was going on in his head. He almost smacked himself in the head when he sussed the triviality of his self-interested ego, one that he would try repeatedly to kick it to the curb or drown it in a cesspool, but each failure only fuelled his rage, until he had enough to plot revenge.

And with that, he took out a pen…
Gordan, June 2014

No construct is indestructible.