Thank you, and yes I agree. : Thank you, and yes I agree. Drop implies damage or fecal waste. When my adopted parents wanted to embarrass me, they sometimes said I had been dropped on my head before the adoption; in school, I dropped a class I had no chance of passing; and my father remarked about the neighbor's boxer dog, once, by saying, "That damn Mike just dropped a pile like I have never seen before." (Mike, the neighbor's senior dog, did have very active and efficient bowels.)
What I like about this piece: What I like about this piece is its honesty,
it gets right to the heart of that tug‑of‑war between
who we want to be and who we have to be.
The simplicity of the language makes the truth hit harder:
most of us bend to duty, but the rare moments
when want and have align are where happiness lives.
Mate, that piece is pure:
Mate, that piece is pure chaos: frogs raining, rabbits ribbiting, monocles and cannons;
like someone spliced Dostoevsky with Joyce and then set it loose on a cruise ship.
The Rossaforts? Total posh caricatures, staring through binoculars while the world burns.
And the poor narrator’s stuck as a slave on deck, railing against shallow imaginations.
It’s satire, it’s absurdism, it’s cosmic futility all rolled into one.
Honestly, Pursia, it’s like a fever dream dressed up in a top hat.
This poem really captures:
This poem really captures the restless churn of living without enough:
the way anxiety loops, how poverty narrows your world until even generosity feels impossible.
I love the raw honesty of the line about adopting children, and
the nod to JID’s lyric grounds it in lived culture.
The ending “why / for what” feels like the perfect echo of exhaustion,
a question that lingers long after the poem ends.
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