Isn’t it hilarious
how the ones who detest being labelled
are the first to hand out labels
like they were free lunches at a non-profit fundraiser?
Isn’t it hilarious
how the ones demanding to be respected
are the same ones flinging names like monkey shit in a cage
any time their convoluted perceptions
bump into something remotely incongruent?
Isn’t it hilarious
how the ones who speak of being let down by phallic existences
are the ones dildo-ing their unsatiated insecurities to sleep
night after night,
chanting empowerment while choking on validation?
Isn’t it hilarious
how the ones preaching that nothing is binary,
only fluid,
are the ones binarising every nuance
because fluidity makes terrible slogans
and absolutism sells faster
when you’re high on a demented God complex?
Isn’t it hilarious
how the ones claiming conversations are gateways to better worlds
are the first to chant war cries
because conversations—
unlike wars—
demand the dangerous skill of listening
without a compuslive need to win?
Isn’t it hilarious
how the self-proclaimed saviours of the world
are out there selling it in parts
to buy relevance on rent,
because what’s a revolution worth
if it didn’t make the headlines
of journalism paid for in shared hatred?
Such ludicrosity.
Such sanctimoniousness.
And yet,
you take yourself so seriously—
like it matters.
As if the entirety of human existence
isn’t just the funniest punchline
to the cosmic joke
that life is.
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