Sometimes I think that one of the most frustrating and fundamental aspects of being human is that explanations can sometimes be utterly, embarrassingly, absent from life. For me, art has always played a role in trying to find reason for emotions or actions. Sometimes, however, it is a way of just expressing them by pushing ideas into a reality. Pure catharsis.
I chose humanity as the theme for this poem, and I think ideas surrounding jealousy and self-reflection are pretty self-evident too. But the reason this poem is called space, and carries such a short and vague narrative, is because I'm trying to convey a sense of helpless emotion. Outer space is a place where we still don’t understand how 99% of it works (dark matter etc). Entirely without explanation, and yet with a strong intention of being.
I think it can be easy, with art being so subjective, to be carried away with the question of why, but I wanted this to be a snapshot of what. Just feeling. Jealously is illogical. Nasty. The last line in each section conveys that. No one is either kind of space.