I feel like

I feel like lots of things.
I feel like the worn out tracks through the carpets,
The old and wobbly furniture. 
I feel like the noisy dryer in the basement,
And like the ugly peeling paint on the walls. 
I feel like the cracked and bowed floor boards,
The abused sidewalks of seventh avenue and Broadway.
I feel like the balded tires on the truck, 
The broken down bulldozer in the yard.
I feel like the dulled blade that can no longer make a gash,
The worn out bearing that won't spin.
The broken e string that you cannot pluck, 
I feel like the trend gone out of style,
I feel like all the Polaroid cameras sitting in attics. 
I feel like the boxes of cassette tapes you'll never listen to again. 
I feel like the public telephone, or the phone booth that closed. 
I feel the the VHS player sitting in the basement, 
I feel like the lost Greek Fire nobody will ever understand. 
I feel like the shoes or bottles buried in the wall, and nobody knows why it's there. 
I feel like the lost Athapaskan languages, 
I feel like navigating a mountain in buhtan with a broken compass. 
I feel like I've got a nose bleed in a shark tank,
I feel like I'm out here catching the volcanoes eruption with a just a bucket.
It feels like being hunted by something I can't see or hear; 
It feels like I'm holding back the tsunami with an umbrella. 
I feel like a cinder block, 
And I feel cold and like I cannot move, 
But it doesn't feel like you've totally broken me yet.
It just feels like I need to feel something good.

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