this back room contains
the earliest memories of my life.
behind the white paint
were cheap wooden panels
a yellow paisley print
now removed in the kitchen.

and for babies not even born
we adopt new names and sounds
to communicate what happens
to a person
who is learning to lose
all selfishness.

i am a stranger to my own past,
because i didn't remember
it like you.

i romanticized the parts
i'm not sure you remember anymore
and gave up feeling
like you were
somehow accountable
for the craze i turned my life into.

and as i pull away from you,
i see the strings
that tie me to everyone else
are tugging too.

and i'm not really left with many
to talk to about all these things
that i discovered in the process
of liberating myself from you.

so please don't
take offense
in my sometimes
strange silence.

i get tied up in my words
now that i have become
conscious of them.

Cape Canaveral - Conor Oberst