Sometimes You Freak Out
It's the entrapment, the reality of no escape from:
the noise of off-key singing
my sluggish body
the shyness that pulls me inside
the assault of stares, grazing fingers
foreign idioms
a city running itself to death, chasing its own mangy tail.
It's not knowing who I am, having no sense of grounding, of being known, of being someone. I am nameless; I am every name (except ones I know). I am leaning against the air, against memories, shadows, dreams. And they aren't strong enough. They don't hold me. I am alone.
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