i’m writing poetry through jaded eyes

sitting on the floor staring at a dimmed down screen

on a broken down computer that

reminds me of one of those

as-is cars you find in a lot

–

i’m propped against the wall

naked

ass digging into the beige shag carpeting

in a town that belongs to the old

–

i’ve slept most all day

recuperating from a week that never seemed to end

living on hope which

i assure others had long ago taken flight

–

i got an email when i awoke

from one of the many applications i’d been sending out

informing me they’re appreciative of my interest but

they’ve decided to go in another direction

–

i contemplate the merits of just quitting and

living on the streets

become another millenial beat down

kerouac proxy

–

maybe then i’d find my tristessa

sprawled out in butterfly beauty

aching for love

in a new mexico rest stop

–

maybe howl in madness

as ginsberg did

angry and distressed at

the world and its inconsistencies

–

or burrow into isolation

become a junky

shedding light on the industry

while dining on naked lunch

–

moreso though

i want to be me

–

i want my voice to be heard above the cacophony

i want it to be heard in the minds of readers

who felt alone

discarded

–

i want them to find something positive

through my negative words and experiences

knowing they

will make it through

–

i want to be honest

like the beats

exposing truth as i see it

conveyed through my words

–

maybe we don’t all need to hop a train

binge drugs sex and alcohol

plant ourselves in a city far from home

to find it

–

maybe

simply

what we need is time for ourselves

to seek what we’re missing

and

find it