tangent # 1 April 14

a desire to make a story up
and convince everyone around me.
compressing my eloquence into six words
which sound nice,
why does art feel like what I can get away with?
terribly frightened of focussed people.
where do they come from?
how do they think of the same thing
all the time?
coming back home and wishing that the dogs
don’t bark at me,
wishing that I was somehow ordained,
assigned some mission impossible,
something to win.
but I am just a kid in a city
trying to make it work,
doing something for pain
something for pleasure
and forgetting which is which.