don't talk to me...

i'm thinking,
deciding,
planning,
hiding,
being
me for
real this
time and i
don't know if
i can seem to stay
even if in spirit i
slip away,
daily.

complex poetry.

no one understands,
let alone me. and
yet i do, because
i wrote it and i
wonder if others
'get it' like i
get it or whether
it is not compre-
hensible, not sen-
sible to continue
as if nothing was
wrong when you know
full well (or another
word) that it is not,
it is on the edge, the
moment, the poem, the love
that was once given is now
shallow and unreal in a
way. i ramble ...
in poetry.

don't
talk
to
me
or
talk
to me
whether
or not it
is what is
and or should
be - a change in-
deed. i want to
leave babylon
and maybe it
is time to
see the
world
as others
see me.