Wandering through insta

I read so much poetry
about the longing everlasting
desires and needs of love
about the lonely broken hearts
of all these lonely souls
in these cities of glass and stone
there’s so much empty promises
so much suffering alone
all these verses of betrayal
I just can’t take them anymore

in a world
where people
go on yacht trips
to see people die

where soldiers
hunt down children just for fun
where they record their slaughter
and their dancing on the graves
where they’re dressing funny
in the clothes of women
they literally just raped

and still I’m here
in my western privilege
riding trains, sipping coffee
scrolling past massacres
almost vomiting
all this dissonant guilt

and still I’m here
with a heart so full of love
punished by imagined echoes
of those we didn’t choose to save
that all my writing
is nothing but broken
and makes no more sense
to me