Statistics

It’s difficult to be a statistic, I realized
Everything, from which sleeping pattern you take, to how you wake up
Is just cold hard data for their next pie chart
We are lab rats to life, asked to run into the field covered in foil
To see if the thunder will hit us
We are only information

Funny how we made categories for everything in this world
Clean, Dirty, Good, Bad, Pretty, Ugly, Gay, Straight
Convinced that these are merely for organization
The word organize means to create a coherent unity of individual things
Yet when we ended up with more than one thing
Humanity is supposed to be Pangaea but our tremors broke it apart

You get to a family reunion and they tell you, you gained weight
They ask you if you’ve been getting rest just because of a little unrest
They tell you they’ll get you a comb next time because your hair doesn’t look right
As if there was a rule book on how your hair, or the rest of you should look
We become so transfixed on details we forget it is only the tip of the iceberg
We give titles to our best people which is okay
but we leave behind those below to be uncategorized
You have to grow wings to have worth
We only know how to look up

Standards only matter when you accept them
Why do we succumb to the barriers when we made them in the first place?
You can’t wait for someone else to jump over the hurdle first
You will lose that way
And when glass shatters you can’t wait for other people to pick it up
Why increase the chance of hurting?
If you’re going to bench press, make you sure you can carry your responsibilities
When you do nothing, you allow the space to be filled with something else

It’s difficult to be a statistic, I realized
But to be a statistic for humanity itself doesn’t seem like a bad idea
Where you can only be categorized for how much you loved, and how sorry you are
How fragile you can be and how brave
For how much you learned, how much you lived
For how human you are
Maybe then, the numbers will mean something

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