Is It Just Me?
Is it just me, or does it seem like everyone is always waiting?
Maybe it’s just us, Just America,
Or maybe it is just the way it is,
A sort of global sensibility, the whole world just waiting
Waiting
Life on hold
Living moment to moment, but every moment
Waiting
For that magic moment where shit just makes sense.
It doesn’t make sense.
And is it just me, or does it seem like we’re falling
Deeper and deeper into a bottomless pit of isolation and apathetic insensitivity
Flourishing our discrepancies
Ignoring the logicality of decency, of boundaries
Recently, I have found that I, too, am a victim of this epidemic
I, too, am drowning in apathy,
Living just to keep my head above water long enough to breathe
But the air up there is thick with regret
And sometimes
When I breathe in the suffering of the world
I regret my desire to be a part of it
But I am a part of it,
And no matter how I try to keep myself apart from it
It’s there, always there
Waiting
Silently
Waiting
For me to let go and give in and commit and admit
That as much as I am a part of it
It’s a part of me.
Is it just me?
No.
It can’t be.
I cannot, no I refuse to believe that
In a world of seven billion people
There is no such thing
As just me.
But that’s just me.
Maybe it’s just us, Just America,
Or maybe it is just the way it is,
A sort of global sensibility, the whole world just waiting
Waiting
Life on hold
Living moment to moment, but every moment
Waiting
For that magic moment where shit just makes sense.
It doesn’t make sense.
And is it just me, or does it seem like we’re falling
Deeper and deeper into a bottomless pit of isolation and apathetic insensitivity
Flourishing our discrepancies
Ignoring the logicality of decency, of boundaries
Recently, I have found that I, too, am a victim of this epidemic
I, too, am drowning in apathy,
Living just to keep my head above water long enough to breathe
But the air up there is thick with regret
And sometimes
When I breathe in the suffering of the world
I regret my desire to be a part of it
But I am a part of it,
And no matter how I try to keep myself apart from it
It’s there, always there
Waiting
Silently
Waiting
For me to let go and give in and commit and admit
That as much as I am a part of it
It’s a part of me.
Is it just me?
No.
It can’t be.
I cannot, no I refuse to believe that
In a world of seven billion people
There is no such thing
As just me.
But that’s just me.