# 2013. júl. 6. / LDN
this is it:
sitting all curled up under the shower,
stratford, london
(is it okay to keep the water flowing for
so long in the uk?),
imagining how nice it would be to have a hot guy
(not even necessarily hot though,
it's okay if he's mediocre-looking with a lovely beard,
or a lovely soul)
sitting next to you in the tub - all curled up, too,
instead of spending such grand time with your family.
oh well,
this is it:
trying to survive listening to your dad's lenghty and pointless sentences
while you're trying to feel the city,
wishing for only 5 minutes free of awkward chatter,
his never-ceasing determination to fill the silence with
boring, irrelevant, irrelevant, irrelevant words.
yes, this is it:
bringing your glass back to the counter at the bar,
asking where the toilet is (when its location is
painfully obvious)
just so you can hear the wonderful accent
of the bartender.
i guess this is it:
accidentally coming across an alexander mcqueen store,
yeah, they take your picture standing in front of it,
but they won't be happy if you actually go inside to check the suits.
(this was the saddest of all).

yeah. this is it. this is all.
(point of today's poetry: it sucks to be me right now
because i'm in the city i've always dreamt of visiting,
but instead of euphoria, all i feel is being bummed out
by my parents, by my brother, by the facts,
by the status quo,
by this. this. this.)
(got 6 days for it to pass.)