Second photo-poem, “Sorrow” and “Atlas Shrugged.”
Atlas shrugged and with a rush I feel the crush on my shoulders.
Unbearable, burdensome, barbaric weight.
Weight that no one man should be asked to bear,
The weight of the world which belongs to us all.
And why anyways should a man be tasked with this burden?
Are woman only good at bearing with the hips?
Ancient misogyny projected through mythology,
Atlas was the first douchebag kicking sand on the beaches of antiquity.
As that is so, why do we idealize this man so much?
We build temples honoring him where his disciples work their pecs.
When lost you ask him for directions, even though he doesn’t go anywhere, ever.
Hell, women even write books singing his praises for shrugging off work.
And now, I am stuck with that weight,
A weight which no one man should have to bear.
All because one other man shrugged off the duty given to him.
If we all shrugged off responsibility, where does it fall?
And when it falls, is it a hard fall, tumbling down to shatter the earth?
Or is it a slow fall like a feather, suspended animation trapped in air?
Maybe when it falls it lands like a thunderclap, lightning splitting sky,
Blinding our eyes, obscuring where responsibility really lies.
The responsibility for this world is inside each of us.
It is the sum total of the sins and graces of our forebearers.
Now it is our time to claim ownership of our lives,
Or be condemned to commit their same comedy of errors.
The reason this responsibility cannot be bore by one person,
Is because the mess we’ve made can never hope to be cleaned up alone.