Poem

This is a poem I wrote. I don't know if it works via some scale or metric that some writer decided upon. But I wrote it, and I like it.

Poem

People are strange.

We desire so much out of life.

What other mammal desires so much? How did we get this way?

Why do we wish to surround ourselves with small inanimate objects, many of which we believe bring us closer to a preconceived notion of happiness...

Who decided on this idea?

I never signed a contract or agreed with anyone that this idea would be mine, and I would take it and internalize it as my own.

What if that idea doesn't work for me?

Who do I call to file a complaint.

-Claire