talking to a screen

i was catching up on some of my friends' writing earlier, namely my dear friend Marina Torres (a beautifully amazing poet), and i read her most recently posted poem, "Thrills." it contains a reference to Allen Ginsberg's "Ego Confession," about wanting to be brilliant. 

it started a whole line of thought for me: aspirations, disillusions, dreams, personal and artistic identity. i eventually related it to a conversation i had with my roommate, Greg, about how we have so many health problems for being in our mid-twenties. 

it went fast and i typed it out as i thought it; weird for me, since i very seldom type something out before i write it down somewhere--i work better with pens and pencils. 

anyway, what it is about is obvious--at least to me; so i won't, nor do i want to, go into it. i am far too restless and hungry.

and bitter. and tired. and exhausted. and hungry. and yeah.

talking to a screen

trying to not let a leaf escape me

i compile my belongings, those temporary and 

those as permanent as intangible memories can be

and i do what i know best

i entertain the walls and make excuses to

my make-shift bed

-i am absent most nights-

i listen to the migraine's steady whisper while

it holds my ears--tells me to scream and

i listen with my mouth closed;

keep the cries warm with anything that can

blanket these sobering shivers

i break paper and imaginary lines and

ones and zeroes and i fill my fingers with 

anything that can heavy my hands

i lay myself

unrevised

across all that i make to call my own 

and share it with the me hiding inside my backpack

i convince my feet to pace along to my heartbeat

but i find my steps limited by 

an apartment with a glorified fire escape and

an ocean sunset view behind a moldy kitchen window

i follow the lines forming under my eyes

and trace the distance back to a place where

my guitar can sing to me,

you're too young to be this old, aren't you?