I am not graceful. I am not dangerous. I do not know many words and I have not seen many places. I am limited by my own normality that nearly borderlines ignorance.

I am bruised thighs and too-short nails. I am scarred wrists peeking out beneath sleeves and the uncomfortable shift of those around me.

I am flat notes sung and misinterpreted sentences that go on without correction.

I am a writer that has nothing to say. Always standing on Sunday night's edge. There is so much potential to be held but it so often falls through fingertips.

I am his placeholder. And when I leave, it will not hurt as badly as those before me because I am forever--always--temporary.