I am easily twenty pounds overweight,
and my soul is a couple hundred under.
Everyone else has this heavy thing
that sits in their stomach and tells them
that they’re alive. I think the only reason
why mine hasn’t floated out my ear
yet is because my throat is blocked
by a coal of self hate. Maybe that is
the thumping I hear, my spirit
screaming. I always thought
it was my heart beat.
I can’t tell you why I am here,
and I can’t begin to explain who I am
because I know I’ll start to cry,
and I am trying to save up my tears
for something that’s socially appropriate
to cry over. Like a mass murder
or uplifting trending video on facebook; not,
definitely not because your succulents
aren’t arranged in the way
you wanted them to be.
I’m an ametur gardener
buried half alive in my own
half hearted attempts at having some
effect on this world. My arm
reaches out and paints my own
plot pot with a chevron design
in Robin’s egg blue.
God, I wish the soil was organic;
my girlfriend is going to be so upset with me.
If I was forced to describe myself
in one word, I would choose the word
echo. The sound balances in your mouth
and swims around in there unlike me,
who you usually spit out, except on special
occasions like my birthday or when we
are drunk. Like me however, echo
repeats what has already existed.
Do I even exist as a single entity?
I would say sometimes when I
am laying awake in bed at 4 am, yes.
When I am on my fourth episode of
Supernatural straight, I’d say no. You see,
when I am aware of it, I feel alone.
Does that make me an entity though?
No. It doesnt. I’m on repeat
of everything that has happened to me
in this 22 year abstract basement painting
of a life I’m living. From child abuse to
Disneyland, it’s all been a show I’ve seen
before. Echo - because I am a result,
and not a human. And I’m sorry that I
cannot come up with any witty way
to say it. Have you figured out
I’m the terrible person yet?