Everyone's afraid of growing up.
Losing that unique edge.
becoming
One of those adults spouting off the platitudes they used to so self-assuredly mock.
Those healthy boring folk with their
sleep schedules and
multiple bank accounts with
commas and
**** like that.

But as I sit here on the couch that my roommate
brought home
after his parents bought a new one
reflecting on who I should be; who I want to be
and who I really am ;
an adult, apparently....
I'm right at the cusp of thirty, after all.
Yet
my biggest disappointment
is the simple realization that I still have far too much in common
With my eighteen year old self and his
panic attacks and
substance abuse issues and
Three month heartbreak affairs and
Chronic feelings of being misunderstood and
the ****** poems he writes to try and
come to terms with
all of that.

I love you almost
as much
as I hate myself and
I
don't
want
to hate myself anymore.

I'm not sure if
I miss you
or if I just miss
being
your favorite person.

It's not
the fascists with their guns.
Or the Democrats with their bumper stickers.
Or the boomers with their Facebook.
Or the leftists with their Twitter.
Or the toddlers with their iPads.

It's not
the billionaires with their minimum wage.
Or the landlords with their land.
Or the hospitals with their bills.

It's not
the ocean with its plastic.
Or the forest with its fires;
no....

The worst part of living in this boring
post-modern nightmare dystopia
is that even the ******* drugs
are poisoned now.

All the bravest people
have already killed themselves.

I wonder what
they'd
Have to say about
all of this now.

I understand myself quite well.
It's everybody else that baffles
me.

We did more singing than talking
More drinking than thinking
More touching than blinking

I don't even know you yet
But I think that you're like me
and I think that I like you

Notions and concepts like
affection
and gut feelings and
mistakes are mostly ethereal, and

I've been trying to dwell less
on epistemology anyway
Trying to overthink less
Trying to ask less unanswerable questions like
is this the beginning of something?
Or merely
is this the beginning of what has already ended?
Or
do I even feel these words in my heart or soul
or
do they simply sound poetic on paper?
Or
am i even capable of feeling anything anymore?
I don't know.

I felt your soft lips with my fingertips
That much is true.
I feel a need to feel them again
That is also true.