I think all my discontent comes from my wanting. To want something is to feel incomplete or empty without that thing, at least initially, and I think I want too much. I know because I got so many desires wearing me down that I’ve passed that phase. The emptiness that comes with not having the things I want is gone, now I’m just angry. I can feel every desire rattling in my mind demanding they have a right to exist and that I inherently have a right to want them to. All the while, the resentment grows. And the discontent of not having a world where 1 in 3 is actually 0, where my skin color doesn’t automatically make me a statistic and where I can breath because my anxiety is no longer making it hard to swallow, all those feelings turn to hatred. Hatred for the society I am in that allows atrocities to happen for the sake of profit, a thing that is as made up as the dollars used to quantify it. So yes, I am angry. Angry because I want to be in Morocco on a plot of land that I own with animals that I love but instead I am stuck in a morally inept society obsessed with paper and not owing each other a damn thing. Life would be so much better if the world was just, but it is not. Rapists make laws and monsters abide by them because they know how useless they are anyway. And while they do, I sit around and want. Want to be so unbearably free and healthy and happy that my heart is ripping at the seams from the fact that I am not.