I was going through my archive of poetry scraps recently, and I stumbled across the idea I’ve had that revolution might be the only solution for our modern ills. It sounds overdramatic, maybe even defeatist. But I didn’t mean it in a warlike sense. I’ve never believed in violence as an answer except under the most extreme circumstances. But, I must say, things are broken, and not in any poetic, romantic kind of way. They’re broken in soul-draining, patience-destroying, spirit-crushing ways. All the while, we keep pretending cooperation is the goal while rewarding everyone for tearing each other apart.

Yes, we need a lot more cooperation. But that doesn’t sell. Cooperative movements rarely trend and don’t scale well historically before they’re commandeered by some predatory “nonprofit” organization. Competition, meanwhile, fuels entire industries. It drives the culture machine, which relentlessly turns people into brands and moments into metrics. I’m sick of all of it. I don’t have the stamina to keep up with the online spin cycle. I don’t have the face for TikTok or YouTube. I don’t even have the heart to be an also-ran. In this attention economy, I’m not marketable or even palatable to the layman. No one pays attention to me, not really.

Maybe I should prefer it that way. Perhaps obscurity is the last safe place. But I don’t want to hide. I want to be acknowledged. I want my words to reach someone. I want to feel like I matter in a way that isn’t measured in engagement stats or algorithmic reach. I don’t think that makes me selfish, just human.

Some days I truly believe the world is too far gone. I watch as so many minds too trained to doomscroll skim past what I have to say. I feel the spotlight is so crowded with spectacle, there’s no room for sincerity. But even on those days where I question everything, I keep writing and reflecting. I’m still trying to make sense of this weird, painful, beautiful experience of being alive.

Maybe I’m grieving a version of the world that never existed. LIkely I’m just tired of the noise. Until recently, I was stubborn enough to keep whispering into the void, hoping someone else is out there to whisper back. But now I wonder if even these small actions count for anything.

I’m not built for this world. But I’m still here. Perhaps that counts for something. I just don’t know what yet.

~ Amelia Desertsong, July 9th 2025

Revised 2/6/26