Too many words.
always empty,
hiding thoughts of years.
You and I
the clichéd few
among so many,
sometimes deceived to think
that “my life”
is more important than yours.

It is not real,
this world we live in.
It will crash
with all its glitter
and naked,
only dust will remain.

I cannot fit your square hole,
you cannot hug my round peg.
But I look and see questions,
you look and see discomfort.
Money, food, clothes,
avoid what makes us
feel and act and be.
Pay the bill, exchange niceties.

You will never know how I long
to know my family
and I will always know that this one
is not really mine.


21 March 1990