Where the hell am I?
this place
the people
leave me feeling so damn lonely
that I have to touch myself
to make sure I'm not a ghost
wandering invisible
reaching into dimensions
that my spirit does not fit into
trying to touch someone
anyone who
can just see me
understand my point
for even just a moment
see the real me
and care to know me
What I would give
to be walking the streets of San Francisco
right now
the mazes of China Town
dank smell rising from herbs
and fish and bright colored
silk embroidered with mysticism
bustling into the fog
the cool salt air
tingling my face
hills that defy gravity
Music
the Mission
Castro
art
people of the edge
people I understand
yes those ones
with the brown skin and
purple dreadlocks and piercings
tattoos and leather
words of revolution
pouring from their lips
and meaning it
intercultural understanding
weaving realities where
races can really live together
where weird is really normal not this
pseudo hip almost honest and real bullshit
sugar coated deceptions
served up all dainty
but just doesn't smell quite right
DAMN
where the hell am I?
I'm Invisible.
Invisible
