Politics of me.

We live in a world so obsessed with politics, with making changes. It’s all noise to me. It’s like the interference of a radio, white noise. “White noise”. Is that even politically correct anymore? Question Time, a politics debate show on the BBC in the UK, professes that there should be more working class people in parliament, representing the views of wider society. That’s truth. I just watched a TV programme entitled ‘Growing Up Poor’. It explores the nature of teenagers living on around £8 per day, the typical benefit pay outs from the government. Watching that made me realise I live in luxury, so why I maintain such depressive tendencies is beyond me. Possibly because I don’t fit in to what society deems as successful. I’m currently without a major job and damn is it depressing to be held back though there’s a burning ambition within.

All I want is an easy life. I envision a smile, white teeth, staring back at me. I’ll guess the country is Brazil. I’ve formed a slight obsession with that country of recent; the boy I met on the cam chat website is the first instance of falling in love with the place, then I guess my fondness of beaches, brown skin and diverse culture. It all starts with me running away.

He’ll be intelligent, smart and witty. That’s who’ll be looking back at me. I never picture a woman looking back at me anymore. My how times have changed. Or maybe there never was a woman. Maybe that was just the product of me being society’s product.

We’re neatly packaged beings who over time have succumbed to this tradition of slavery. It’s too much for me. I just want that beach and the boy. The boy who’s going to love me whatever the shape of my nose is, whatever wage I’ve brought that week, however big my penis, however crude my humour.

I don’t know him yet
But boy do I miss the boy.


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