If the world was the size of a penny,
a dollar would be my thoughts.

A silver coin forged in fire from scolding that's always scaulding hot.

Like a spider who cannot spin web,
I'm given a ball of twine.

Equipped with confusion and creativity, I weave a stronger web-like mind.

Under vulnerable exposure
I am like a cheetah without spots.

Mixing ink from my fear and pain to paint myself in polka-dots.

My missing words hang in the air
like wood and winded chimes.

Missing points and memories just because they slip my mind.

If the world was the size of a penny
I'd have a penny for my thoughts.

I'd spend it on complete sentences,

some extra twine,

and spots.