Questions Written Into Silence

Why this look? Why this posture? Why this sequence? I keep asking questions online, only to be met with silence—or to have my words dismissed and trivialized. Then I struggle to explain my identity and the effort it takes to make a living. What does it all mean, and where am I going? More questions, with no answers and no value to show for them. “Why not put that energy into something else?” they ask. But how much energy is left? Is this the lament of a walking corpse, or the soliloquy of someone falling apart? Still, the words have to be written. Every attempt to create feels like a failure, and the failure grows harder to bear. How long will society remain patient? Is my family meant to carry the burden?

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