cardboard box under my feet for an ottoman

t-shirts stacked on my left

dirty laundry on my right

beer and whiskey bottles in between

two years in this room

and more than two tears

what’s keeping me here

one thousand and sixty-two fears?

afraid to leave my mom

am i really helping her by being here?

or am i hindering her?

i have became a new person in these two years

for better or worse i can’t decipher

am i visitor or a lifer?

love spending time with her

is it helping

or would she rather see me elsewhere

or continue seeing me near?

fuck if i know, have to figure it out on my own

happy in my hometown

but i’m always great alone

know she loves me anyway i choose

either way i’ve got to get grown

see the world through my own eyes

whether in Kokomo or by someone else’s despise

believe the truth or lies

listen to the telephone cries

or see them for myself?

put my ambitions in action or on a shelf,

live for family or my selfish self?

live in the moment or live for death?

i can’t decide

yet…