I am a temporary tattoo on the skin of our earth,
ink washed away with soap and warm water,
a joy, an indulgence, but not a need.
I am not a need

I am one word written on an etch'n'sketch
and silent again when I'm shaken.
It was simply a "Hello," unwanted.
I am not wanted.

I am a smiley face drawn in condensation
on glass car windows as my mother drives me home.
It fogs up again, erasing my grin,
I am erased.