just napkins VIII

without a want for molding
without a tongue which tastes
i am all but empty
with a shrinking waste
i am hungry not for feeling
yes, i do so much, it’s true
and even though i’m waiting
i am not your you

i’ve said it before, ya’ll misunderstand
i am a male; i am a man
can you not dream that a person, creating
needs space to be writing

i’d like to shower
i’d like to change
people are changing
but not in my range
i need a meal
i need to eat lots and lots…
because my work can’t be done
when i’m left to be lost

it doesn’t matter who is around
i think you’ll recall that i’m everyone’s found
when pastures deliver bullshit on the lawn
i’m only forgetting
convincing every single fucking person of something isn’t my job
i am a writer
i am a ghost
i play piano
or blues on guitar
it doesn’t matter
what i do is create
art is my function
and i cannot wait

realize i know what i do
it’s only in doing where doing is true
i need my privacy
away from the crowds
always and forever i’ll be proud
so be proud
that i cannot help who you force to be ‘round
but if they are shadows
there’s light to be found
i cannot live on the street

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