Mundane
A Poem
If only life were mundane again
lacking interest or excitement, dull
or maybe it is mundane for me
because when the world is on fire
I try to sit still in my fireproof box
and let the flames go out on their own
no water necessary, we’ve lost all our tears
Or maybe it’s me who is mundane
and not a world hellbent on its own destruction
just me, humdrum and monotonous, dull
an apt description of this quasi-smile
and honestly, it hurts to pin this mask up
because I am not that happy, I am grinless
Some might think mundane is the bane
of my existence or theirs, depending on context
and concept and redirect and abject
notices of excitement that are never true
but made to look that way because it sells
If only life were mundane again
a slow walk in the void, dull
when all noise stops, when all is quiet
and I can hear the inside of my brain
telling me that it’s all going to be ok
that I am not an oddity or a sideshow
that all I am is, mundane
