Is it any wonder that black cats
perch on pale shingles
or that the moon returns each
evening against a stark navy sky

What’s it like to be the center of attention?

I exist only in shadows
and bloom viciously
against the wall at parties.
A secret garden.

Poisonous frogs
stick out like candy against
forests of green.
They dare to be noticed as
unapologetic warnings.

If only I could feel the spotlight
burn a hole through my lonely chest
just once. Like rays of sun
that exist just for my well being.

How does it feel to be someplace you don’t belong?

Cancer grows
multiplies
splits apart, doubled over
a thousand times
with little regard for it’s unwelcomed
stay.
Fearless.

I spiral down vacant bottles
only to shatter through the bottom of each one
in the hunt for genuine human connection.
An insecurity that is nothing but confident in itself.
I crave to be noticed.

Is it any wonder that black cats
perch on pale shingles?