when you live
somewhere dead
you slowly die with it

and when you leave
all your friends
they give you such ****

"why ya movin', anyway?"
"you don't got the ***** or the money."
"you'll never make it."

so you turn
to your family
your blood and your love
and they're the worst of all

it scares those that
love you
to see you leave on your own
and make something of yourself
that doesn't involve them

"you got no dedication. you got no ambition."
"you're being stupid. don't sell your stuff. you ain't goin' anywhere."
"no you can't have any money."

so you grit your teeth
and make it a promise
to show them all up
prove them wrong
right before
their
eyes

with no support
you look to everything
anything
for a crutch
but
you fall
again
and
again

so

you get right the ****
back up
and you learn to
walk
without a crutch

and suddenly
your family
your friends
they see you pressing on


and when they see your vision
you creating your own path
writing your destiny
leading

they
all
follow

and 3,000 miles will never be far enough.

have you ever
sat
to think about your life
and just
how
inconsequential whatever you're doing is

just try
for
a second

fretting over finances
or
straightening your house
or
maybe trying to write
something
anything
worth reading

it's a peculiar kind of feeling
when
one particular Thursday night
you come to fully embrace
the idea
of being cosmically irrelevant
a small kind of feeling
akin to
maybe
standing under a large skyscraper
though
perhaps
the scale of that
doesn't quite do it justice

so you stop
and
think
and whatever you happened to be doing
seems silly
but
when you
think
a bit longer
you come to realize
you are cosmically irrelevant

so you fall asleep
on the toilet
reading Bukowski
one particular Thursday