you hear?

i was the streets
and my hair was making weird turns
and everything i ever stood for
was bound to go to hell.
whilst i waited i froze to death
and i drank coffee and wine without restriction
maybe the former individual inhabiting my skin
would have complained.
would i have been ashamed?
i can't make people understand
that i just don't care.
i am a proper runaway.
i run i the worst times
escaping from the fathers and the mothers
who have nested me this long.
i am a sailor,
heart at sea,
sunken in machines
buses and the never ending necessity
of commuting.
for this i'd outlived
a hundred times the skin that fights me.
and for this i think
i'll keep on fighting
even if when i speak you can't talk
like looking in the mirror
like loving in between the walls