In the Neverland days,
I'd sell mud-pies to the neighbors and they'd tell me they were a delicacy.
I'd teach the toads how to swim in a water pail,
and cry when they got away.

I was told by my kindergarten teacher that I was a love bug.

Now people spray pesticide along the streets,
in the houses they own,
flooding the air with insect repellant.

But I will thrive like a cockroach in nuclear war.
I will live.
I will love.

I sit, and the spiders shape their webs over me;
I make friends with each of them.
Charlotte writes the words I could never say,
and with much more eloquence than I possess.

And when carrying me into the trees,
webs shaped around my body like plastic wrap,
they set me down into a nest and help me
count the constellations.

Radiating light bursts out of everything.

This is what it feels like to be whole.