how do we live

Photo by Plato Terentev on Pexels

there must be so much pain 
in the world from people not 
being able to spend enough time 
on what’s personally meaningful 
to them, to feel forced into doing 
anything just to survive and get by…
this undermines any sense of 
personal freedom…
if you can’t think about the things 
you want to think about, 
if you’re stuck swallowing down 
true emotion because the expression 
of those feelings will only result 
in life getting harder for you, 
if your personal boundaries 
are ridiculed and questioned, 
if your interests are disregarded 
if your values and beliefs are 
met with hostility or written off 
as unimportant or impractical — 
that’s not living 
that’s running 
that’s hiding 
in many ways that’s what it’s like 
being already dead…
but what are we to do? 
how do we escape death in life? 
how do we choose to be ourselves 
regardless of the ramifications…
how do we ignore the punishments 
imposed for the mere exertion 
of our own autonomy…
how do we live a decent, fulfilling 
life, without feeling scared 
that someone will hunt you down 
and eviscerate you with their blades 
of shame, getting you to feel endless 
guilt over it, over being you, 
over not abiding by the status quo

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Garbage Notes:

I think this poem probably doesn’t need much explanation. But here we go. It’s about the pain and the quiet desperation of a life not yet fulfilled. The disappointment and frustration of not being able to make your dreams come true (yet).

I know, for many of us, life is full of trade-offs and sacrifices. Especially for those of us who weren’t born into worlds of great opportunity.

Maybe it’s never even occurred to you that there could be alternative ways of existing. Maybe you never even considered other ways of expressing yourself. Maybe the people around you have always scoffed at you for trying new and creative things.

Or maybe you’ve never entertained the thought of making a living without having to sell out or break your back on someone else’s dream.

It’s hammered into our heads that we have to live a certain way. That we have to work a certain way. That we have to do what we’re told … or else.

But there’s always that little voice inside that cries out.

It’s your tears in the night. It’s your restlessness during a meeting. It’s your eyes glazing over while being lectured to by someone you can’t stand. Life is full of these shit moments where we have to swallow our pride and stifle the power inside us just to get by.

Just to get by … this is what so many of us are doing. We feel like we have to shut up, go along with stupid shit, get along with stupid people—all as a prevention mechanism, to keep the wobbly house of cards from falling apart.

I wish I could say I’ve always been brave and that I’ve always gone my own way. But I haven’t. I get so scared sometimes. I feel all the pressure that this poem warns the reader against. I’ve caved in the face of it. Not always, but I have.

But remember this: it’s the little acts of rebellion that keep the dreams alive. Like stealing away to write a poem, or turning down a pointless social invite to work on a story.

Or maybe you have to say fuck the world for a while and you take a whole fucking week to devote all your conscious energy to the characters in your own head, the ones you know can teach better lessons than the flimsy personas of real people who are sleepwalking through waking life.

Do what you have to do! Even if most of the day you can’t do anything that makes you feel free. You stay watchful, you stay awake, stay patient, and your time will come. That’s when you must be ready to act.

---

Franco Amati 2024

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