you don't know how it felt to be in the womb
but it must have been at least a little warmer
than this.
you don't know how intimately they're recording
your every move on closed-circuit cameras
until you see your face reflected back at
you through through the pulp.
you don't know how to stop picking at your
fingers.
you don't know how little you've been paying
attention until you look down at your legs
again.
you don't know how many times you can say
you're coming until they just stop believing
you.
you don't know how orgasmic the act of taking
in a lungful of oxygen is until they hold
your head under the water.
you don't know how many vietnamese soft rolls
to order.
you don't know how convinced your parents
were that having children would be, absolutely,
without question, the correct thing to do.
you don't know how precious your iphone battery
time was until you're hiding in the bottom
of the boat.
you don't know how to get away from your fucking
parents.
you don't know how it's possible to feel total
compassion in one moment and total disconnection
in the next moment.
you don't know how things could change so
incredibly fast.
you don't know how to make something, but
the instructions are on the internet.
you don't know how to make sense of this massive
parade.
you don't know how to believe anyone anymore.
you don't know how to tell the girl in the
chair next to you that you've been peeking
at her dissertation draft and there's a grammatical
typo in the actual file name.
you don't know how to explain yourself.
you don't want two percent but it's all they
have.
you don't know how claustrophobic your house
is until you can't leave it.
you don't know why you let that guy go without
shooting him dead and stuffing him in some
bushes between cambridge and watertown.
you don't know where your friends went.
you don't know how to dance but you give it
a shot anyway.
you don't know how your life managed to move
twenty six miles forward and twenty eight
miles back.
you don't know how to pay your debts.
you don't know how to separate from this partnership
to escape and finally breathe.
you don't know how come people run their goddamn
knees into the ground anyway.
you don't know how to measure the value of
the twenty dollar bill clutched in your hurting
hand.
you don't know how you walked into this trap
so obliviously.
you don't know how to adjust the rearview
mirror.
you don't know how to mourn your dead brother.
you don't know how to drive this car.
you don't know the way to new york.
you don't know the way to new york.
you don't know the way to new york.
you don't know the way to new york.
