They say I’m ridiculous.
It’s ridiculous how everything is ridiculous,
And outrageous,
And compulsive.
So I’m irate
The human race is already next to intolerable and every single mistake
piles upon countless mistake
Until the room is crammed with a million balled up papers and an eraser that needs to be thrown away.
And perhaps there really won’t be a tomorrow
But still I can’t help but wonder and yes I do tend to follow
Right up until the fork in the road when things are justified
And become utterly ridiculous.
What will the world be like in two thousand more years?
Or two?
That’s debatable.
So what will be of the future us?
Of our great to the thousandth degree grandchildren and their enormous vocabularies
And their SUVS…or spaceships at that point.
Will they know my name here in two thousand more years?
Or two?
Will it ever matter to me? Probably not.
Or maybe too much.
Isn’t it all just too much and too ridiculous
And too outrageous.
Too debatable and uncertain.
The man with the tie and all the answers, he wonders what the world will be like in two thousand years
And whether they will know his name here in two.
Will they only know the thread count of his honestly too expensive suit?
It will matter to him.
And suits have never impressed me all that much,
So I won’t remember him
And that is not debatable
And that is not something that will be compromised.
I will never compromise, or even try to decide
What the truth is for the common thinker
And the common misdemeanor of the unmistakable feigner.
I’m waiting for a door to slam and waiting for another to be opened
And subconsciously writing my life story down
Only for it to be one day reopened
And dwelled upon and wondered about
Is it you, in this poem, that I’m so irate with?
Probably not
But possibly so.
Read between the lies, or the lines
Whichever works for you.
What will be of the future us in two thousand outrageous years?

This poem was written/submitted by Courtney Snow.