Hegemony

I am filled with warm fuzzy feelings

from the plastic money in my pocket that I can

spend freely on reimbursing others’ creative pursuits

Warm Fuzzy Feelings,

From exercising the nominal amount of self determination

that I’m allowed now,

that I have submitted to the unequal of exchange

of selling my creative soul at an hourly wage

And I cash it in.

For the freedom of four beige walls

buried in the ground of my basement apartment

and the Freedom to sedate my muscle aches

and Fuel drunken conversations that comfort me

as if talking were the same as meaning something

the Freedom to be entertained

by the sounds of the latest Minnesotan blues grass

to earn a spot among the bourgeoisie

Selling my opportunities to appreciate a cluster of leaves

spinning perfectly on a brick side walk,

the smell of pizza and incense,

the periwinkle of lake sunsets…

Instead indulging in short cut remedies for

Lost Time.

Hitting bowls to become amazed and feel electric

in all my melanin as if it were

sunshine.

Drinking beer to bypass the growth needed to share

real intimacy

Pushing bodies together to pretend I’m not really

alone

And I am so proud of what I have earned

Even while I am so defected by false connections and keeping it together

that I can’t feel myself at all

I call things love that could never leave me nourished

I panic and covet company, scheming

like an investment plan

how to keep it.

I retire personal opinion,

there is only actions, interests,

and what brings me the most affirmation

None of this is beauty but

It feels good  to buy.

To follow and execute a purpose,

to catch sensational endorphin highs by any means possible

to smash together time so tight

That I could never run from this

primitive codependency

That I could not remember to fight.

For a time when no one could hurt me

When I recognized which connections were important

When I rode time easy as if I were

tapped into a rhythm and not

struggling through a riptide

When people could pass and I didn’t care

and the only thing that mattered

was how I felt.

but now

I don’t feel anything

I’m just waiting to respond to stimuli

to get the thumbs up to feel good

to follow and beg for esteem

No time to love myself

No time to have a self

and no real joy in the remedies.

Just store receipts and ticket stubs,

and dead nerve endings in my feet