so this is what freedom feels like

wasting our putrid youth
on city streets peppered so thick with chewed-spat gum
& regretful vodka vomit
that even the pigeons will not land there when dawn
comes at last. Icarus, every-one,
circling the sun- we must not slow down
even though we’re heading to the ground.

we think we’re leaving home heading for new lives &
whirlwind romance & a world of knowledge opening like a
brilliant sea anemone as we swim past-

instead we’re slightly bored & mostly confused
& entirely afraid. this is why first-years
drink all the time & pretend to like loud music &
strangers’ bad breath in the dark. we were promised
space suits & big city dreams, not an endless lesson
on how everything you have to do in order to live in the real world
seems a little bit impossible & a lot like hard work.
we get drunk trying to forget the textbooks
we will carry up the hill tomorrow.

the girl from  the room down the hall
asks how my day is & i say good.
i ask and you? & she says good.
this is what living with people means.
you smile for them & they smile for you
but inside, nobody is smiling.

the things that were exciting in that first week without our mothers
are not as fun as they used to be.
nobody will say that out loud.

it is hard to make friends. it is hard
to understand people you don’t know, or know
people you don’t understand.
i swallow beer & peel oranges
alone in my room, thinking
we are all just trying to know what is holy

& none of us want to be lonely,
none of us want to feel ashamed.