Words

Poorly Written People

People.
Many of them exist.
Others cease to do so.
Some are beautiful in ways that can not be deciphered by the naked eye.
Others generate an appearance only the blindest of creatures can ignore.
Yet, nothing is able to describe the agony one experiences when in contact with a poorly written person.
Some people, though not particularly well written, manage to get by in life, laughing along the way.
Others, however, aren't as lucky.
Poorly written people are brutal.
Poorly written people do not have essence. They ride on others' lives like a parasite only God himslef could control. And yet, he doesn't. Or isn't. Is he? Or He?
It doesn't matter. Because poorly written people populate the majority of this saddened rock we call our rotating home.
What is a home?
Poorly written people wouldn't understand. They simply don't mind. They can not think. They are able to only believe and nothing else.
Beliefs that deceive and control, vomiting empty, useless rules for life, are the foundation of our pathetic society.
And this girl, sitting alone on her invisible desk in the midst of a crowded train platform, writes. She writes about all the poorly written people around her and their lives. She writes until her fingers hurt and the station is empty; the train has left, once again, without her.
This girl on the moon, in between all these poorly written people, struggles to comprehend her complex existence.
As a rare well written person, she despised the complexity of her mind. How far could it stretch?
Why was existing so painfully challenging?