to the people in suits:
i don’t understand you.
i don’t comprehend your ideas.
i don’t think i live in your world.
i i i i i still am.
you can ignore me- i am still here, breathing, thinking, asking the wrong questions, the stupid ones, mostly.
you have perfect hair.
you never have acne.
i don’t think you ever fart or burp or drool.
i don’t even think you really kiss.
my hair sticks up and i always have a few pimples.
my clothes are always a bit rumpled and my shoes have holes.
i can see into your world sometimes- when i’m walking downtown among your beautiful office monument towers, glowing sparking with lights and wonderous architectural marvels of our modern impressiveness, then i can see into your windows (which are always clean) and i see you, your desks, your work- i look in and i try to image me in there i try to see to really see to understand to. .to. ..
i see you. i wish sometimes i could be you.
i go to the mall and laugh a bit hysterically at the price tags, then i see you at the cash register, buying it all, buying the things someone far away made and someone a little closer decided to charge so much for.
the things people like me will never have.
the things i don’t miss.
i have my life. i have things i love. i have loves. i have a mind.
even though i have holes in my shoes.
i could have been you.
i am not stupid.
i always got all As in school.
i never fucked up too badly.
i see in your world and you know-
i don’t want it.
i want me.
your world has no room for me.
the real true honest messy twisted me.
in your world i would be a shell.
nothing more than a shell.
just like you.
my hair would be perfect.
just like you.