The Problem Party

I sit on the commode of my locked bathroom,
Ignoring my problems
That knock on my door
“Hey, are you coming out?” they ask
“Yup, in 2 minutes. Or days.”
I am wondering
Whether to shit
Whether to bathe
Whether to die –
They come in all shapes & sizes,
These knocks, these problems
Fiction & Nonfiction
Irrelevant & Important
Impulses and Oversimplified extrapolation
Some are short-lived
Some stay for a long time
Some come and go
And come and go
And come and go
Some visit me frequently as if they love me
And l love them back
How long can I go on hiding from them?
Not much, I know
These movies, this music,
These musings in the toilet
These books and poems,
The to-do lists & planners,
Latches and locks
But not the solutions
How long can I go on?
I need to open that door.

Knock. Knock.
Who’s there?
Your relationships.

Knock. Knock.
Who’s there?
Your career.

Knock. Knock.
Who’s there?
Your health.

Knock. Knock.
Who’s there?
A gigantic pimple.

Knock. Knock.
Who’s there?
Your bank account.

Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Your addiction.

Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
A pandemic.

Knock, knock.
Shut up.
Shut up who?
Shut up you.

Dancing around my porch, my problems,
My privileged and pretty little problems,
They must be wondering what a party it is
While I try to poop in my toilet
Wondering how they are the real party poopers.
Enough talk about shit.
I am supposed to find purpose somewhere in this problem party

Knock, knock.
Who’s there?

Knock, knock.
Who’s there?

Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Climate change.

Knock, knock.
Who’s there?

Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Who who?
Who gives a shit who.

So I shit a bit longer
wondering if I am the who
who at all gives a shit,
dwelling in the washroom
while the party goes on outside.
Terrified of the ugly world
I can see beauty in the closing walls of this tiny refuge.
Why shall I entertain them?
Why shall I be stuck in this endless circle of
Problem-solving, and problematizing the solution
What do I get out of it?
Is the purpose worth the price I pay?
And by the way,
when & why was I even pushed into it?
Did anyone ask if I was up for it?
But dear, your problematic life is bliss you see!
You get a lifetime of beautiful experiences that you need to let go of in the end.
Or perhaps you’d realize it was all for the greater good as a barren planet billions of years later
Anyway, there is nothing to be missed about this,
The pleasure and the pain,
Even if it is, we can tell you that nothing goes in vain.


Knock. Knock!
“Anthropocene age is coming to an end. Are you going to miss this shitting in the toilet?”
“Has it really been that long?”
“No, it has just been really fast. Come out!”
“We’ve got alcohol.”
“And some other stuff.”
“Yeah, that too.”

Great, time to escape.


I am an idiot.

It’s hard to dream really,
Once you finally get started,
You are bound to ask
You chose to make love
Over making money
And now you stand naked in front of the people
Asking them to like you
Some of them do,
Some of them don’t,
Why do they not?
You look yourself in the mirror
And find only flaws
Why do they even do?
A question you throw to those who love you.
It’s hard to dream really
There’s one step toward progress
And two steps to regress
Two or three,
What’s wrong with me?
Where did it go, all the glory?
Once dispersed in the air like confetti
And now there are ashes slowly floating down to the ground.
What stupidity!
Now, I weep on my pages
On crazy outrages
Gasping for breath, floundering,
My mind madly meandering.
Maybe I would continue to suffocate,
Maybe I would continue to suffer,
And still, I would be an optimist
Even when the times are tougher.
I will cling on to the rope,
I may never give up hope,
And even when I weep,
I would think of the promise I must keep.
Of course, it’s hard to dream,
No wonder so many don’t.
And I have chosen both.
Sure, I have been upset,
But there have been no regrets,
I never stepped in with an expectation of how everything would be perfect.
And it hurts,
But also it doesn’t.
I would be honest.
I wouldn’t lie
Still each morning I need to remind myself why.
The doors are far behind,
Much farther than I thought
And even if I were to return
I will find them all locked.
So the only option is to move ahead
The real choice is between confidence and dread.
If an idiot is what they have been calling me,
Then idiot is what I would confidently be.
You have your security
And I have my dreams and my heart
I don’t know if it’s a fair trade
But I hope without too much of a fuss,
That it turns out good for both of us.