I'm a cat hopping in and out of boxes
trying to see where I fit.
Oh my fascination
with trying different options,
It's absurd,
the world cackles —
me diving face first
into tiny openings.

Maybe I'm a confused chameleon
instead.
Dynamically scaling,
hues darkening
in the lighting.
Oh how bright it is
under their fluorescent lamp.
Hurry, take an image
while I'm inside,
while I'm static.
You may never see
that shade of me again.

I'll wake up
Mundy morning
dead tired
from restless
dreams about
the forbidden sound
of fish on ice,
a harmonica
full of ants,
cat paws that fall
in the night,
the breathing
of waterfalls,
the depth
of mountain roots
and falling soot
from the fires
of Viking pyres.

When I see that look on your face,
I smile and know there is space,
for you and I
to be safe.

I'm just
a bag of skin,
whirling,
in the wind.

I'm plastic
on the beach,
out of place,
and not unique.

I've been stabbed,
and ripped in half,
by some homeless man
picking up trash.

I'm submerged,
underneath,
unwanted things
that rot, that stink.

I keep telling myself
all of this will make me
stronger.
But every day crawls by
and ends with me standing
in the same place.
Dizzy watching the trains
rush by,
waiting
for things to be alright,
because this
chaos should
give up,
eventually
right?

Anything that can be said,
can be said
better.
It's almost if,
it seems as though,
it's dependent on
the weather.