I feel there’s a part of me,

that wants the paper to stick to

my mouth.

Wants my lips to crack with delight.

Then have other’s eyes,

facing me and smiling,

or thinking,

or shaking their heads and saying,

“That works, that works.”

I feel there’s a part of me,

that wants to be blind,

wants to stay blind,

be left behind.

And only my ears can hear,

and they hear only nothing.

But the music tangles in my mind.

Our minds are folded,

wire on wire,

cord onto cord,

snake onto snake.

They’re big but we’re small.

And all I think is we’re all conforming.

I should try to be different –

but I can’t see a difference.

And I am fake.

And the whole world is fake fake fake.