If I Could Erase One Trend From History
It would be the phrase:
“It could be worse.”
Really?
You don’t effing say.
Why can’t it be better?
That’s what I’ve always wanted to ask whenever someone says those four magic words.
It could be worse.
As if that’s supposed to make everything alright.
Life punches you in the mouth, steals your lunch money, kicks your dog, and somebody standing on the sidewalk says:
“Well, it could be worse.”
No kidding.
It could also be better.
Why does life always have to be framed as some brutal contest of suffering where the winner is whoever has it the least terrible?
Somewhere along the way people stopped asking how to improve things and started competing over who has the bigger scar.
We forgot what community meant.
We forgot what it meant to build something together.
We forgot that a society is supposed to lift people up, not constantly remind them that someone else has it worse.
Instead we built a mental monopoly.
Who’s richer.
Who owns more stuff.
Who drives the nicer truck.
Who has the bigger house.
Who gets more likes.
Who wins.
And while everyone’s busy counting their properties on the board, nobody notices the game’s been rigged from the start.
So no, I don’t want to hear that it could be worse.
I want to hear how we’re going to make it better.
So no, I don’t want to hear that it could be worse.
I want to hear how we’re going to make it better.
Then again, I’m doing alright these days, so maybe I should just shut the F up before life overhears me and decides to humble me again.
Every time I start talking too much trash about life, life pulls up a chair and says: “Say that again.”
Next thing I know I’m back in the trenches trading elbows and blows with whatever fresh nonsense the universe decided to throw my way.
Maybe that’s just the deal.
You get knocked down.
You get back up.
You complain.
You laugh.
You keep moving.
Equal rights, equal lefts.
Sinister †Publications 
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