three pillars shaking

Context: is it public? is it private? is it personal? is it political? is it individual? is it collective? is it initimate? is it structural?

good questions! ask me about it.

boom boom.
three pillars there are:
build a house,
find a job
take a person to marry,
a husband, a wife.
your golden ticket
to a happy life.

it is noon.
sinking in with my carpet,
staring at the ceiling,
i sigh.
blankly, it stares back at me.
i’d have preferred not to fly through the roof like the housing price
no choice though.
i just sold my bed.
and the shelter above my head will be changing soon.
never belonged to me anyway.
yet another address.
a new set of keys.
move, if you please.
i straighten my face.
like the rents i rise to leave this place
i don’t possess.
let’s sort, let’s pack,
let’s throw away.
less is more
and enough is enough,
or at least, that’s what i keep telling myself
while i empty the shelf.
but life is for rent anyway,
or so they say.
crick crack.
one pillar shaking.

evening rising,
the sun is calling it a day.
and i should, too.
but there is still so much that wants to be done:
some eagerly written words that call for my critical eye and for a number on the scale of validation.
some mails that kindly ask me to finally reply.
and i cannot remember my last real vacation.
i hope this finds you well.
rushing, meeting, eating
hustling, sleeping, repeating.
well, i am not.
something feels really wrong.
and deep down i know
that i need to stop this infinite sprinting marathon.
but in this world, money still needs to be earned
and this job is the only one that i’ve learned.
so is it really wise
to leave it all behind?
spirals in my mind.
ding dong
two pillars shaking.

sweet words
in the middle of the night.
star gazing,
holding tight.
hands shaking.
we have a deal now.
but why do i feel that this is not
how most of the stories go?
or only a tiny bit of them.
is it boheme of me to believe
that one person can never tick all the boxes
and that we need a network of care?
but still i sometimes grieve
that all these ancient fairytales
are nothing more than idealized myths of nostalgy.
don’t get me wrong.
i still will shed a good flow of tears
over a well-composed romantic song.
and so, the fear to be stuck in those old stories of a disney teen
meet the dread of a blinking cursor on a blank white screen.
courage, i whisper.
a pen, a paper, a concentrated frown.
let’s write a story of our own:
once upon a time
has never been.
the wind strokes over the table,
the pages swoosh
woosh, woosh.
three pillars shaking.

no house.
no job.
no ring on my finger.
whispers still linger in the air
that i’ve failed my life.
but naive as i am, i still believe
that there are better ideas out there
than building stability
on shaking one-fits-all versions of reality.
there’d better be.

© cynje