Categories
Poetry

Stop. Imagine.

Stop.

Imagine.

There is a human here and a human there.

Both are different, vastly so.

Human number one feels okay being bombarded with a box full of emails. He tackles them, one by one, and then he continues on to more busy things. He flies to the top of the work chain. He never rests. Not even when he’s sick. Successful. They say.

(Nobody can figure out why success looks like that.)

Human number two feels overwhelmed by emails and noise, so instead he chooses to paint. Beside the trees. He struggles with focus, but he needs to struggle with focus, because if he focused he’d lose his flow. His authentic flow. The thing within him that changes the lives of others in profoundly beautiful ways.

(Nobody can understand him. Nobody can figure out why he’s broken like that.)

He feels ashamed. He has a choice. He takes medication so he can be more like the first guy. Everybody breathes a sigh of relief.

He slowly dies inside.

And so does everyone around him because

where are all the beautiful things?

Imagine.

Stop.

All toxic cultures die.

Everybody is happy, being the person they were always meant to be.

Everybody.

The end.

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