To nothing

There are many things in life that don’t make sense.

Why are we here?

What is our purpose?

How were we created?

I wish I knew.

I can’t remember when I first started asking these questions.

Was I five years old? Or was I nine years old?

Nothing matters.

I learned this when I was thirteen.

Nothing in this world matters.

I can remember growing up and wanting to be the type of person who saves the world.

But the world can’t be saved.

From wars to racism to sexism.

This world is destroyed.

I can’t remember when I stopped wanting to be a hero.

Was I eleven years old? Or was I fourteen years old.

I can’t remember.

The only thing I can remember is why I stopped.

I can’t be a savior.

I can’t save people.

I can remember trying to save people and failing.

Nothing matters.

Nothing makes sense.

There are many things in life that don’t make sense.

And I am one of them.

This poem is about: 
Me

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