Tag: mental-health

the ballad of timeless me

the ballad of timeless me

“i’ve seen it all, babygirl”

i’m time -no cap, i’ve seen the scroll.
from boomers’ grooves to alpha’s toll.
each gen thinks they’re the final boss –
but trust me, love, y’all mid at most.

boomers: “talk softly, dress neat, write checks, repeat.”

they called me “hip,” they called me “rad,”
drank black coffee, not ‘dad-to-bad’.
they smoked indoors and said, “behave!”
then blamed it all on microwaves.

love notes folded like paper swans,
now y’all just text: “u up?” at dawn.
they feared long hair and disco lights –
now they’d trade their knees for tiktok likes.

gen x: “raised by vibes, powered by eye-rolls.”

gen x came through with shoulder shrugs,
too grunge to care, too broke for drugs.
watched mtv and wore disdain,
believed emotions were a scam campaign.

they walked so memes could later run –
invented cool, then dipped for fun.
used payphones, mixtapes, dial-up moans,
and ghosted you via dial tones.

millennials: “we brought brunch. you’re welcome.”

ah yes, the latte-generation crew,
cried at work and called it “breakthrough.”
they said “adulting” like it’s war,
then rage-quit zoom at 34.

they’re all “burnout,” “side-hustle,” “vibe,”
manifesting peace through spotify tribes.
they romanticized healing in cafes –
while buying crystals on emis.

gen z: “it’s giving… psychological warfare.”

then gen z burst in, full on flex,
with adhd and autocorrects.
said “rizz,” “slay,” “delulu” and “based,”
and typed in lowercase. unphased.

they cancel, stan, get un-cancelled too,
wear trauma like it’s a designer shoe.
invented “beige flags,” dated “icks,”
and argued love through instagram pics.

they don’t walk, they core -it’s a thing.
goblin, feral, clean girl, king.
gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss spree –
meanwhile, i’m in the corner like “bruh… me.”

gen alpha: “touchscreen toddlers and existential roblox.”

alpha? bro -they don’t even blink.
they google life before they think.
they don’t play tag -they play on apps,
get diagnosed by chatgpt claps.

they call mom “bruh,” call dad “npc,”
their lullaby? lo-fi adhd.
they’ve never seen a tree get climbed –
but can deepfake grandma in real time.

me  – time: “certified boomer, eternal slay.”

i’ve worn every font, danced every cringe,
from flared-out jeans to y2k fringe.
each era slaps, then fades away –
like facebook moms who learned to slay.

but through it all, i’ve watched y’all grow
from “yeet” to “yikes” to “ratio’d.”
and if you think you’ve changed the game?
just wait, the next one won’t know your name.

so post your pics, go viral fast,
make reels about your healing past.
but know this truth from someone wise:
even “forever”… gets archived.

hashtag me. meme me. cancel me twice –
i’m time, bestie. you’re just my slice.

airplane mode

airplane mode

“an ode to a man who glitched before he healed”

i woke with a flicker in the corner of my sight,
the ceiling fan spun like a buffering byte.
my bedsheet shimmered in 480p,
and my own hands lagged behind me.

outside, the trees refreshed in loops,
birds chirped in tones from whatsapp groups.
the sky had a filter, warm and fake,
the clouds swiped left before they could break.

my coffee steamed like a netflix stream,
my mirror pixelated mid-daydream.
when i blinked, my face would freeze,
like a paused call in a foreign breeze.

i ran to a doctor, then three, then more,
they said it was stress – or metaphor.
“your mind’s a modem, overfed,”
but i knew it was my soul instead.

i lived on rectangles, scrolled to sleep,
sought dopamine in every beep.
i loved in texts, fought in threads,
and cried in memes while breaking breads.

my work was slack, my rest was screen,
my prayers – just playlists in between.
even silence had a buzzing tone,
and i felt most distant when never alone.

so i fled.

not a wellness retreat with leafy tea,
but a forest with no electricity.
no signal bars, no glowing keys,
just dirt and dew and dragonflies.

the first night, my fingers shook,
reaching for screens that never looked.
i whispered “okay google” to a stone,
and wept when it did not answer the tone.

but then, a curious thing began –
the stars showed up, unfiltered, grand.
the moon said nothing but stayed so still,
and i felt a fullness i couldn’t fill.

the rain fell like applause on trees,
the wind told jokes in rustling leaves.
and slowly, my breath began to sync,
with the universe’s ancient link.

i watched the sunrise load in full,
without a lag, without a pull.
and i didn’t share it. i just knew –
it was meant for me, not the algorithm’s view.

now, i walk where no cables hum,
where tweets are sung, not thumbed.
i listen more, i speak in tone,
i’ve updated into flesh and bone.

once, i feared disconnection’s gate,
now, solitude feels like a clean slate.
this isn’t exile – it’s a return.
a flick of a switch – the soul’s concern.

so no, i’m not off.
i’m not away.
i’m just on
airplane mode.