I have found myself on the island
of misfit toys, broken dreams, and lost things.
Not so much as found myself,
but more like I jumped overboard
a sinking ship and reluctantly drifted
to the only place I seemed to fit.
Things are pretty grim here.
The wind whistles with despair and
missed opportunities.
The sun shines very rarely and, when it does,
it's too bright for our fragile eyes
because we're just too used to the darkness.
The shores are quiet lovely though.
They're the divider between our world and the real one.
We can sit and warily observe others living
without having to actually partake.
These times are tinged bittersweet however,
because as much as we would like to deny,
we are envious of how those people move about the world
as if it isn't a place to be feared.
It's not all bad here,
no matter how we might complain.
We make the island what it is.
In return, it lets us simply be.