i feel guilty cause i sleep alone
i am guilty cause i stay at home
i confess that i make small progress
i am guilty of writing lines
that have meter
and standard rhyme
i am guilty of being unaffected

i am shamed for being poor
and that i really do not want much more
than the little i've already got
pack up all that i own
and throw in a bag of bones
and runes
and it would all fit on a cot

and i am jealous that i am not you
with the shiny new Subaru
and guilty of being bitchy
i twist my hands and scratch my head
tremble when i go to bed
other people's cash makes my fingers itchy

and i feel strong and connected
young and disinfected
touching all the world
but not fitting in
to the world of boys and men
women and girls again
cause these days they believe in isolation
and everyone thinks that this is liberation

but this is all i own
my flesh, my blood and bone
the candles i burn on the altar
and standing up through loss
the storm it came to toss
me this way and that for three long years
and it had it's way with me
and took half my sanity
it left my love, my life
dollar store paradise
change and a bag of cheap fears