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A Poem for The Stranger

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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 it feels to write a poem in nine minutes and then have the whole internet misread it.

you don't know how to stop. you just really don't know how to stop.

you don't know how little you've been paying attention until you look at your eyebrows in the mirror and they look like brown mcdonald's arches sprawled across your forehead.

you don't know how many vietnamese soft rolls to order, but that's okay, because the wonder coffee & sports bar, reviewed by CHARLES MUDEDE in this issue, doesn't carry them anyway.

you don't know how precious your iphone battery time was until you're reading REBECCA BROWN's essay about sleeping in a homeless shelter in a cafe in boston and there are no free outlets available to recharge.

you don't know how to convince these fuckers to let you use a fucking outlet.

you don't know if these people don't know who you are.

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 CATE MCGEHEE's story about diy culture in the university district somehow makes you feel total compassion, but you feel it anyway.

you don't know how to exploit the diy scene into playing music for free at one of your concerts, but you'll figure it out somehow.

you don't know how to again reiterate the fact that you are in boston, where the terror happened, without making it seem like you're just looking for attention.

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 realize that the fact that you're writing hundreds of words without a single proper capitalization makes you not the best unsolicited copy editor a dissertation-writer could ask for.

you don't want two percent but it's all they have.

you don't want to read all of DOMINIC HOLDEN's story about surveillance post-boston-bombing, but you want to mention it anyway, just so people remember that you're in boston right now and wonder if you're okay.

you don't know where your friends went.

you don't know where the bathroom is.

you don't know where the bathroom is.

you don't know where the bathroom is.

you don't know... never mind. recommended

 

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