sure, I've been struggling,
but I know lots of things
and I have ideas on how
to turn it all around.
you'll never know
exactly how I feel;
no one knows
how anyone feels.
this poem isn't even
about what you think,
whomever the fuck
reads it here or in Oregon.
I am full of it,
just a Florida nuthin',
but I am more of a Brooklyn bastard
even though I only lived there one summer.
don't assume, that, just because
I love you means that I need you,
the two couldn't be farther
than me and my father.
when you sit it up in bed
and think of me,
the 22nd thought is probably
the most accurate to what I am dreaming of.