Why the feeling of nostalgia
when sitting in an airport on your own for the
how many times is it now?
well this is the last at least
for awhile

What can I miss when I chose
on my own
to leave this place behind, is it regret?
or the natural progression of emotion in events you can't control
but I'm in control, I am, I'm in
this motion half between happy and apathetic and
**** why'd you have to make me miss it here
and I haven't even left

Nostalgic for nothing
for what I chose to forego for myself
for the people, though few, I'll miss and mourn
for the culture for the music for the body
that no one else will quite understand

How many 'you had to be there's
how many 'I guess it's only a thing there's
how many times will I look at art
look at rocky, horror
look at a cynic and think
'**** what have I done'

It's an in-between kind of emotion
that will pass I have no doubt
pass and leave room for a chance I'd never get to take
but **** the in-between
**** the waiting

In greying room sits my idle stare
glassy I outside see Baltie air
foggy white whiskers, a comely face
Smiling mouth vacant. A circle lace,
Within contact eyes sparkling fair
Uneasy on moving teeth despair.

Zoom, zooming a Prius black streaking there
in between Baltimore, heaven's stair
up collective vibe, woodie brown palace trace
knowledge bit worker, foe uncommon hairy race
Discovering an escaped boar upon hidden lair
Greasy lit padding with dollars flare.

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Who’s the prettiest of them all?
Is it the girl inside me?
Or is it the girl they see in me?

Pretty in face, Pretty at heart,
This is what I ask about,
No girl is ever ugly,
But not every girl is always pretty.

Not a pretty heart and just a pretty face,
Is something as good as waste,
Living without a face,
Is not something too bad,
But living without a heart,
Is something very sad.

Mirror, Mirror on the wall,
Who is the prettiest of them all?
Is it the girl inside me?
Or is it the girl they see in me?

I'm slipping,
gripping for dear life,
what it is I hold so close.
I am almost
almost nothing,
almost something,
someone
somewhat stuck in your back molars.
I beg to be swallowed,
I've been chewed up enough.
It has come time to release this grip,
this grip that's been all I've known for seemingly millenniums.