Sundays feel hopeful.

It is something I learned

When I was a kid.

Sundays have lost their meaning,

Since I haven’t been in school for ages

And I haven’t had a normal job

Since when I tried

And failed

To be a real person.

I am a collection

Of disjointed feelings

Glued together

By occasional concepts

Like 

Art.

Love.

Grief.

I really spend my days

Breathing in and out

Wondering who ate my avocados

Or sitting in front of my computer

Like right now,

My lungs compressed

Because of shame,

Sadness,

Longing

And unrealistic

Hopes

Of redemption,
A witless coyote.