my world outside me.

if I, in fact, am nothing but a sponge
 
To absorb the daily rush of life in
 
An industrial wasteland mired with
 
All the problems plaguing urban 
Culture—

t’s a fact of life they argue
 
Though your colors show you’ve got 

Barely even a thought to what it’s
 
Like to live outside the rings
 
Society constructs from those 

Who have and those who want 

And those who need but never get
 
Anything more but spare change 

And a look of pure contempt— 

If I, in fact, am nothing but a sponge 

To absorb the mixed media messages 

And spit them out to make the glue
 
On this papier mâché raiment
 
That I don from day to day 

To show off all my favorite brands 

To tell the world of what I make
 
To tell the world that I do take
 
And take and take and take 

And leave behind a trail of breadcrumbs 

Leading myself not to home 

But to the top, to what’s “in”—