of the whole damn universe,
as if we finally imploded
or maybe expanded too far
and I’m tryin to relay all the messages
to the appropriate people,
all the scraps I collected
and every moment I felt present
to wrap them up
to convince one another
that this is all
purposefully intergalactic and
beyond human intention.
Often I hear the things I’m sayin
but they haven’t made sense yet
so I put them on paper,
should probably burn them,
just offer them up
like little sacrifices.
What else to do with all these words?
They never stop falling,
they are my planets
and perhaps my black holes,
just snippets of other-worldly
and catastrophes
wandering gracefully
through the galaxies.



Observing everyone, everything else
until I cannot see myself,
just riding on a cloud
hoping no one notices,
but everyone cares,
weighing social anxiety against ignorance
and deciding my temperament
will not accept my own
no matter that of others
but it soothes me
to think
that only I analyze down to the last detail,
maintaining a certain cool while I hide
the for reals
of what I feel,
cuz being passive is the trend
and I stopped trying (too hard);
fashion, music, poetry, education,
I don’t know what to focus on
they say I should just enjoy myself,
join the crowd,
but the ultimate truth is mine
and my sensitivities are my own design.
So if you say I shouldn’t
what people think of me,
I counter that with well then,
why the fuck are you concerned with me?!