with my head in the clouds
i wonder when I’ll hurtle back down
into the godforsaken ground
where most people live
with reality, safe and sound
yet me, i liked to dream impossibly
of how my mother’s sharp edges
would melt into soft clay
of how arms clad with armour
would cradle me, make me calmer
or how someone would look at me
and be desperate to see my vulnerability
as if i was a painting in a museum that
they wanted to look at endlessly