I'm no longer a child
When my heart gets trampled on,
When it is crushed like
Coffee beans inside the grinder.
I'm no longer a child
When I fly alone,
My fate tied to a lifeless metal bird
To solemn to cry.
I'm no longer a child,
When I walk down the street alone,
A stranger in your neighborhood.
I'm still a child,
When Im homesick all the time,
When I cry for my mother
To hold my hand.
I'm still a child
When I'm scared of the dark,
When the comforter is more
Protection than comfort.
I'm still a child
Even though I'm no longer a child.

Is a dichotomy.
It's a mix between the literary
And the story.
The ratios of metaphors
To mind blowers.
Where is the balance?
Information
Then a quote
And back to information again
And I am nothing but the writer
The voice telling the story.
I am unimportant

I am born in the wrong century.
I do not want to use the
Lifeless objects
Of this day and age.
I want to go back in the past.
If I had a time machine,
This 21 century Jane Austen
Would go back to where
She belongs.
In England.
In 1803.
And live to see what happens after that.
Now it's all not fun. And games,
But there's an art
That's hidden
Beneath the tapestry of time
An art that
Is desiring and longing
For us to feel at home.
This is my longing.

It is morning,
The sun is awake
And mourning
Comes with the break of day,
As I wake up once more
To face the world
It's mourning
And I'm supposed to
Cry and be still,
But it's morning,
There are things in their own time
To come.

I wheeze
And my throat creaks
Like an old door
That needs oil.
I gasp,
Like a fish out of water,
And I cough
Like an old man with a pipe in
His hands, about to
Meet death face to face.

I am angry
Mad
Seething
Grinding my teeth,
Clenching my fists
I AM ANGRY!
I think I will not matter in this world
This world will survive
Without me
I am nothing but a speck of dust
Under your feet.
Why do I matter?
I will become a nobody
I am a nobody
And I cry and cry
But the world offers no comfort.
I am angry
I am mad at myself
I am stupid and fat and ugly
And I matter to no one

Enter the world of color
Of competition
And danger.
Where all things seem possible and
Nothing is unexpected
Where enemies
Are tricky
Cunning and  just plain stupid
Fat and lazy.
Where an Italian man
With a moustache
And wearing red
Screams
"Let-se-go!"

Yes that is the world I
Am speaking of.
The world of the wishful,
Dreaming they could live in it forever