poetry — personal
Slave to Circumstances
Don’t believe everything they tell you
Don’t tell me I’m a good person.
What does that even mean?
Good for what?
For the environment?
For society?
For laughs?
Oh, I fear I know what it really means.
Useful good,
Convenient good,
But not fucking good enough
To be of any significance
In any context other
Then yours.
But it’s a little compliment,
Just enough to keep the compliance trap closed.
Aah, aren’t you good.
No, I’m not bloody good!!
I’m a selfish egomaniac,
Puking up responsibilities,
Shaving off slivers of hope
On the daily grindstone.
Can’t you hear me screaming????
No, of course you can’t.
I’m a good reflection.
I’ve had a lot of practice.
I’m a slave
To my circumstances,
A sacrifice to the status quo,
Trained and tamed.
One who serves,
Who works,
Who does.
I’ve perfected the art
Of distilling rage into acquiescence…
Let’s hear it for the good life.
© Cathie Bagley
I wrote this a few years ago when I was in a pretty bad place.
I’m posting it now because I suspect there are other people who are feeling the same way.
But I’m living proof, even if it seems like you're trapped, you can change your circumstances. Don’t give up.
