no one can teach quite like a poet

for today’s episode of desperate confessions (like desperate housewives, but not wives), it feels appropriate that i wonder why humans exist. my teacher runs a lesson on the glass ceiling and i wonder why no one else has any idea why this occurs and why it continues to. she then puts on a body break and everyone forgets that kamala harris actually did something important. the candle beside me burns weakly and i think about how i continue to burn weakly. nothing is more exhausting than simply being. they don’t tell you that straight out of the womb, once you’re thrust into the world with bright lights and unidentifiable humans around you. perhaps that is why babies cry when they are first introduced to the universe; they know life is inevitable and thus do not want to begin. maybe i am a nihilist; maybe i am a skeptic of happiness. the teacher who is running the lesson on the glass ceiling has yet to actually tell us how she feels. she has played fifteen videos and as i listen to amanda gorman i realize that no one can teach quite like a poet.