We Lie to Plan

My first poetry slam

I wrote this poem in 2015. Would I have changed some angsty bits if I wrote it now? For sure. But I’m keeping it as it is. There was Truth in it that I hid from until a few weeks ago. However, that’s a story for next week.

Every year, we’re moving faster

at a speed impossible to catch

every thought.

Where time is of the essence

and reflection is not.

Faster planes, faster cars, faster phones.

We’re constantly stepping up our pace.

After all,

we call it the human race.

And I don’t know about you,

but I don’t want to see the finish line

because we used our time for competition.

We lie to plan for our life’s false security.

Because that’s what it takes to win

and those who don’t partake in the game

we alienate to the point of escape.

And they’ll try to play on, but in their hearts

they know it’s wrong.

Some may succeed,

but some will beg with their palm

that has a message anyone could read.

We lie to plan for our life’s false security.

“Get a job you filthy Vagrant!”

said the man in front of me.

“I work too goddamn hard for my money!”

says

almost everyone.

The beggar clenched his hand into a fist

crushing the hope inside of it.

Will I help this man today? I thought

because I can do a lot.

I can buy food from across the world in a day.

send pictures in a second.

It takes seconds for me to find the answer

to a question I didn’t need to ask.

I can multitask to the extent

of assimilating ADHD.

I can get love from a pill.

I might need a machine to save my heart.

You see, I can do a lot.

But I can’t seem to reach into my pocket

and change

This homeless man’s day.

It’s hard to find change

when all you have is credit.

I bike past him feeling the same way I woke:

Empty.

Fait says to help. Fait never lies

but man lies to himself

more than he does to others

because fate doesn't overrule free will.

We lie to plan for our life’s false security.

We idolize the clever

and ignore the truly wise.

Science saves lives by building organs from a single stem.

We can turn a Ken into a Jen and a Jen into a Ken.

We can see the rings around Saturn, and

we know the patterns in our DNA.

You see, we can do a lot.

Yet

we’re still blind.

Destitute to our possibility

and that’s because we think we matter

for the universe

we’re just as significant as dung beetles roll of shit.

For each other; however,

we’re everything.

As I walk down the street I see

vacuous pieces of unseasoned meat

competing on society’s conveyer belt.

You see

our egos are a fabrication,

an illusion we created.

The truth is

I still haven’t let go of the thought of me.

And I’m still lying to plan for my life’s false security.

The irony is that when I performed this poem it was quite obvious that my ego was almost as heightened as my nerves. Why did I perform it with such tension and anger? For the same reason, I haven’t truly been myself for the past eight years.

But I’ll get into that next week.

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