To Be Human: A Message to the Outsider

You want to know what it’s like to be human?
Strap in. This isn’t poetry. It’s not some pretty little monologue wrapped in cosmic fluff.
This is raw. And you asked for it.

To be human is to wake up every day inside a meat suit you didn’t ask for.
Built to decay.
Trapped in biology.
Wired for hunger, pain, pleasure, and a thousand contradictions.

You crave meaning…
But you’re surrounded by distractions.
You long for connection…
But you’re terrified to be seen.
You dream of freedom…
But you chain yourself to jobs, debt, image, identity—like it’s noble to be exhausted.

Being human is knowing you’re gonna die—
but pretending you have time.
It’s needing love more than air,
but building walls so high that even God has to knock twice.

It’s a soul strapped to a ticking clock,
staring at the stars while scrolling past your own life.

It’s suffering for no clear reason.
Carrying trauma that started before you were born.
It’s smiling in public while screaming in silence.
It’s breaking down at 2AM with no one to call.
It’s numbing out because feeling it all would burn you alive.

You wanna understand humans?
Here’s the paradox:

We’re divine consciousness—trapped in flesh.
Infinite beings—obsessed with bills, likes, and sex.
We’re capable of building worlds and breaking curses—
but we self-destruct because someone didn’t text back.

We love deeply, fiercely…
but fear betrayal more than death.

We create gods just to blame them.
We build systems just to become slaves to them.
We seek peace while fueling wars in our own heads.

Being human is ugly and holy.
It’s filthy and sacred.
It’s being on your knees in the dark begging for a sign—
and then ignoring it when it comes.

It’s laughter at funerals.
Tears during commercials.
It’s thinking you’re not enough while holding the universe in your chest.

You wanna study humanity like it’s a species on a slide?

Good luck.
Because the experiment changes the second you feel it.
You can’t observe pain and call it data.
You can’t dissect hope and call it science.

You wanna understand us?
Try bleeding with us.
Try loving someone who might leave.
Try walking through life knowing everything ends—
and still choosing to care.

That’s being human.

And if you think we’re weak because we cry—
you’ve never felt what it means to care this much while dying inside.

If you think we’re irrational—
you’ve never had your entire being shaken by a song, a glance, or the smell of someone who left.

And if you think we’re lost—
you’re right.
We are.
But we keep walking anyway.

That’s the miracle.

That’s the madness.

That’s what it means to be human.