"What more do you want from me?"

Here I am,
Not doing particularly much. I am and nothing, nothing will come. I am standing on a rock, with nothing to say. I am heard, nearly listened to from all around and I have nothing to gift to the empty ears. The empty ears of judgment. The empty ears that will always perceive me differently from I .
So

“What more do you want from me?”

I’ll tell ya.
Oh yeah, I’ll fucking tell ya!
Now sit down!
And Shut-the-fuck-up.
All I want from You,
Is
That You remove
That huge, gregarious,
GAUDY,
Ridiculous,
Obscene
Object, formerly known as “high-definition-television”
From my home.
Oh,
And please get out.

I was walking, and bouncing to the Pixies
When I came home, I had It in my mind to:
Put “I Love You” on my speakers,
Full blast
And
Sit. Or dance.
Mostly dance.
Kick my feet up, ankles
And all.

I was not privileged enough for that to happen, today.
Well,
Not until I called the police and had my home searched.
I called,
I waited,
They came,
Molested my home,
Degraded me in their questions,
Shouted at the silence,
Found nothing.
So why, oh why
Was my door found completely ajar?

And that is the kicker.
There are so many
options,
Ideas,
Theories to choose from.
And none of them
Will save me from that police-full, full-police experience.
The experience of being
Intimately patronized,
With a hand or finger beckoning.