waiting for time to pass so you can reach the good times
seems to me like
waiting for life to pass in order to start living.
if so, what part of you are you going to listen to?
the one that tells you to bite that hand that feeds
or the one that's made up
of words from boring people?
words and words and banter and poems and verses
that only matter
to the people who've written them in the first place.
so what do you have to say
while these other chumps either bark or
shout revolutionary concepts or ideas that could
improve life and the way we live and function
and it's all so interesting and useful and it's something genuine
that truly deserves attention and recognition,
you should really pay attention to what they're saying.
in the end,
it's all the same to you -
that fills up the space and floods up your head and eardrums
like rapid rivers, like a n g r y s t r e a m s o f w a t e r,
that only break things but never mend.
and in the end
words on a plate on a table
in a house that's not yours
with ugly furniture and walls,
and the way the rooms are set up
makes you really uncomfortable.
whose house is this again?
it can't be mine.
and in the end
while you daydream of days when you're not
drowning in words that don't matter to you,
i suppose it's easier to flee
and talk about these issues in your poems
than actually facing the fact
that life doesn't always hum
the notes you wrote on a piece of paper when you were 17.