even as a misanthrope, there’s a beauty in humans that can never escape my thoughts.



i see it in the cashier

with tired eyes and trembling hands

still folding receipts neatly

as if order itself could save plans.



in boys smoking behind gas stations,

laughing like rusted bells

through lungs already turning to winter.



in mothers who apologize to children

for storms they did not thunder.

in strangers holding doors open

without ever knowing

how close another stranger stood to waning.



and maybe that is the cruelty of it:

that i have hated mankind

with the devotion of a disciple,

yet still cannot look away

from the terrible softness of being alive.



because humans are jeering.

we rot each other from the inside.

we build lonely cities;

we call them homes.

we sharpen our grief into weapons;

we act staggered at the blood.



someone hums while stocking shelves at midnight.

someone kisses a forehead

like prayer still works.

someone plants flowers in mud

they may never live to see bloom.



and i,

standing at the edge of another sleepless fight,

with my pulse flickering

like a weak porch light,

cannot decide what hurts worse:



wanting to leave this world,

or knowing there are parts of it

i would mourn forever.