March 28, 2018
By Anonymous

Where am I?

When did I get here?

How did I get here?

Is this place real?

Am I real?

No, I can't be real;

I am just part of the audience of the movie of my life

Not the director

Watching scenes of births, deaths, and marriages

My only reaction a sour blink

I try to pause, but there is only play

I look for rewind, but there is only fast forward

A real person would have a steady hold on their controller

They get to decide the volume of their life

Loud parties,

Filled with ecstasy and euphoria

Or rather

Quiet sit ins at cozy coffee shops

A person gets to decide the brightness of the screen

The coruscant stars that freckle the night sky

Or the grey dropping of murky snow

But me, I am afraid of the threatening buttons

My fingers, a flaking burnt orange from disuse might;


Will crumble from pushing them

-pushing myself

"Just try just try just try"

I fibbed to myself

Maybe my signal isn't strong enough

So I turn the channel


Channel not found


Channel not found


You are not found 

The author's comments:

I wrote this piece during Thanksgiving as I looked at all the conversation happening before my eyes before realizing that I was not a part of the conversation, just the spectator. I tried going on my phone to distract myself but the internet was not working so I went on my notes and started to write.

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