thirty-seven

my creativity is dying
right now
it sits inside of me as it has since i was very young and yet it hides
scared of all these people that use words i don’t understand
what if i’m not what i thought i was?
what if they know it?
and i think they do

i’ve felt the pull of intelligence
felt the small truths that i’ve let go of
and all along i’ve wondered what it was that i was missing
i can’t find myself anymore
because they say there is no self
and i become nothing
what if i’m not a fucking hippie
what if i want my clothes to match
and i hate phrases like “deconstruction of reality processes”
“nonconceptualization of nothingness”
“absolute nonabsolutism”
and all of the rest of this spurting confusion

i want to be simple
in the midst of all of this complexity
i want to be devoid of words and only use pictures to say what i want to say
and i don’t have the pictures because i don’t have anything to say
this place has stripped me of meaning and message because there is too much of it everywhere
i have nothing to offer these people
i am all they have left behind
i want to look at the sunset and not think of where god is right at that moment
i want to wake up and not ask what my purpose is here
i want to go away from here and find the self that i have lost
because i want to be just like everyone else here
and i want to tell myself that i think like them
but i don’t
and i’ve lost the way that i think
I I I I
there is something there in that I
there is no one else
is it growing if you’re morphing into other people?
in my independence i have lost what it was that made me an island
entire of myself
because i was
and now i’m not

FUCK THIS PLACE
FUCK THIS PLACE TAKING ME AWAY FROM ME
I AM NOT WHAT I’VE BECOME

these are the things i have been looking for

(from spring '05)