the small, sloppy life of i

don’t they know

them sitting there

laughing and kissing and smiling

against the sun slipping into the comic strip

of the subway windows

that i am the protagonist

in this tale of i

don’t they know

i am a poem

smoking and drinking

that does not break

but is nonetheless free

don’t they know

i’m as novel as can be

with a spine unbound

from all of this that was built for me

to not take in all too well

that i am meant to wonder what that door in front holds

that i am to ask why won’t they turn off the lights

in an empty office

what is the point of heelies and hotdogs

where my wallet went with money that i got

from some senseless soul who embodies

conflict waiting-to-happen

in ever-widening but decaying circles

like the sun setting into horrible horizon

don’t they know

i am a story

horrified by becoming brilliant

and wonderfully opinionated

and caring about so many

that it dulls me into soapy

professional adulthood

and that i won’t kill myself

in some wild perfect fashion

to tie up loose ends

because i will have work in the morning

and belong to a loving family

and those mortgages rates are death enough

aren’t they dear

don’t they know

i am a climax always

even writing this while crying

about what they don’t know

don’t they know

i need them to read this

that i need to be needed

that i am hoping they will hold onto me here

like another body warm and whole

in order to escape all that isn’t written

that i need this trust and love

this calmness and breathing

this slipping into another

like rain

or maybe

blood

don’t they know

that i am a painting

that took some billions of years

and a little bit of luck

that i am the most profound art

that i am a masterpiece

who belongs to i

though i’m willing to be gazed upon

as i eat this burrito beautifully

for example

don’t they know

i could be the main character

of their story too

or is the whole world

illiterate to misfortunes

foreshadowed in my walk

away from the light

toward no end