Where We Go

I was told to get

a ‘real’ job

when my ‘real’ job

didn’t seem to fit

the description of

what they called 

a ‘reality’. 

Apparently 

it is alien to

stay inside all day

and apparently 

it is even weirder 

to stay inside all day and write. 

Perhaps I’m an alien 

but they didn’t like that

so I guess

I wasn’t an alien 

or at least not to them. 

I was useless 

I was wasting my time

but time to them

wasn’t the issue

it was the boldness 

in which I did

it

it frightened them

how I managed to

do what I loved 

and somehow 

survived. 

I somehow survived

for a few months

I didn’t really need

a lot 

but they needed 

everything and they

needed to feel 

everything 

and that’s the- 

the expectations had risen 

and the expectations

we’re expecting me

to fit

somewhere 

and I refused 

to fit 

anywhere 

and so

they put me 

somewhere 

and I quite liked it

there. 

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Quitting 

I light another;

my mouth’s burning,

my tongue sticking

to my teeth-

but the flame,

it’s warming my

insides with something-

at least, something. 

So, I light another,

then another;

my eyes burn,

all that I once saw

is breaking like ash

at my fingertips,

and the flame,

it still burns,

burns a hole right 

from my throat 

to my stomach-

another. 

I light another,

the sun falls under

the weight of the moon;

darkness. 

Trees twist,

blowing in the wind-

I should really quit. 

One and Six

I want,

so badly,

to belong

in this,

to be

a part

of this; 

to wake

each morning 

and know,

know this 

will be

waiting, waiting

at the 

door, which 

remains open,

just as

long as

I- 

I want,

so desperately,

to belong 

in this,

to be 

a part

of this; 

to have

faith in

the knowledge 

that I 

am good

at this,

belong in 

this, am

in this;

whatever ‘this’ 

may be.