The universe and I
Do not get along.
We are shards of glass from the same broken mirror,
Smashed beyond repair.

I am not made for shaking grounds
And harsh winds.  
I am made for green grass
And blue skies
And sunsets that melt into watercolor paintings.
I was made soft
But the universe is unrelenting.

The earth was born in battle.
Each day she prepares for war.
Each day she starts again

I was raised by whiskey,
Memories tainted by liquor
By no fault of my own.

I’d like to think that
I do not owe the universe a thing
For the pain it has caused me.
For the sleepless nights,
For my faulty brain,
For the family turned foes.

The universe does not owe me
A thing.
It is filled with billions of faces,
Each one begging,
Pleading
For solace.

The universe and I,
We are one and the same.
We are shards of glass,
From the same broken mirror.