I am

What is it that I’m doing here?
I sit and watch,
observing the passing
time and people.
And why am I doing this?
Because I see myself
over and over again.

I am the woman complaining about
her disloyal boyfriend
and the ten pounds she needs to lose
in order to look her best.

I am the man talking about the
dropping interest rates and cars,
and how things are
on the stock exchange.

I am the little child
who’s bored with being inside
in the boring adult conversation place,
who’d much rather be playing and
running around
and squealing at nothing
and everything at the same time.

I am the pierced kid,
a bolt in my eyebrow, a loop in my lip,
and spaces in my ears wide enough to
slip spare change through.
Why do I puncture myself with metal?
For the same reason you puncture yourself
with busy,
with okay,
with later,
with good enough.
It’s just that I prefer to keep my
abuse simpler.
It will hurt for awhile,
but will then decorate my body,
instead of slowly
and blindly eroding away my heart.

1/2/04