and i would live in a world
where people actually take time to listen,
instead of a world
where we are treated like failing children.

this type of thinking
takes me back to those years
when i slogged it out in call centres

i knew of their dependency
on alcohol like wine.
i knew of their pain,
and the passage of their flailing time.

when it’s me,
it’s just me—
this is the way i am.

because, once upon a time,
they gave hope to my dreams,
at tawdry desks,
working hard to facilitate my screams.

living within a fragile shell,
the child of parents,
lost in a poisonous kiss and tell.

pull,
pull up a steady chair.
the world is not in there,
but it is out here.