The Sky A Sickly Yellow--The Dome In Which I Lay,
It Congregates With Blue, Pink, And A Greenish Grey,
The Sun Grasps The Horizon, But Drowns In Trees,
I Stretched My Wings--Frosty Feathers--And I Was Free,
Free Of Scowls Which Burn Into Me, Free Of My Own,
Free From The Glazed Eyes, Which Rest On Mine--
Stones,
Yes, I Admit I Could Be Better, I Admit I Am An Error,
I Admit I Am Somewhat Weak, Still Gasping For Air,
Maybe I'm Just A Secret Which Sits On A Stained Lip,
Ready To Be Worked Against, To Make Someone Slip,
I Dont Want To Hurt Anyone, Not Even A Single Soul,
Yet I Feel Like I May, Or Someone Will Take Their Toll,
I Always Feel Like A Let Down--Like I'm Never Good,
Enough--I Feel So Alien--So Misunderstood*
Yet Why Should That Matter To Anyone?