Barely Moving, Yet Moving Forward

Words by: Lily Anna

I think about being young and foolish as frequently as I do washing the dishes and changing my bedsheets

I often think about romanticising the heat of summer and drinking in beer gardens,

when really I hate the lack of productivity and sticky feeling the warmth brings.

But I’d push aside my disdain just to brush past the vastness of living again.

Everyone around me is cooped up and caught in crisis

barely moving,

yet,

moving forward

consumed in the land of unknowing

where stagnancy is the collective feeling of this digital modernity.

We’re connecting with a collection of pixels

conversing in a code of abbreviations

Do you know if I’m laughing out loud?

Can I still cry “omg” if I don’t believe in a God?

My body is tiring from all this unnecessary being

barely

moving

yet

supposedly

moving forward

in this digital modernia haze

struck by constant scrolling and stimuli

the time just rolls on by

And half the time, if I’m honest,

 I’ll forget to reply yet I’m,

still online

(barely moving, yet moving forward). 

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