Our fish is full of microplastics.
Our fresh water is, most likely, too.
We will run out of it, probably soon,
and we’ll have more hurricanes too.
Much more viruses and unknown diseases,
for which there will be no cure.
Much more frequent and stronger floods,
and storms and winds and bushfires too.
Lots of droughts and mass wildlife extinction
and one pessimistic “there’s nothing we can do”-conviction.
I really would love, love, LOVE to have children,
but I think I should not.
For if then MY child would want to have children,
he or she could not.
I am angry with our government
and with our global economy.
I feel like their inaction
has taken my decision away from me.
I walk around in nature
and see less ducks, ants and trees,
and every Summer I wonder:
Where are those bloody bees??
But most of all, I feel very alone,
because we don’t talk about the climate crisis at home.
Nor at work,
nor at the TV,
do we ever really talk about the changing climate that we see.
We pretend it’s not there.
It’s not urgent. There’s no reason for alarm.
Unlike with the new coronavirus, we should all just keep calm.
At 6 degrees Celsius in the sea,
humankind might no longer be able to breathe.
And then I wonder what it would feel like
to choke or drown or burn to death,
rather than die of old age.
And then I am back to where I am always at:
Me feeling alone,
an “alarmist”, and –
it’s actually quite simple –
This is a poem I wrote inspired by the website https://www.isthishowyoufeel.com/ in which climate scientists and other experts write about how they feel when it comes to our global climate crisis.
Credits foto: The Critical Goose