prickly little thoughts
rudely address me
in the quiet
of the air conditioned
hidey-hole
i've spent my summer in.

thoughts like:
you're a *******
you're going to die here
they think you're joking
you should tell the truth, sometime
maybe it'd
be nice
why can't my face be
the way i want it
why can't my
stomach
be flatter
why can't
mom just
spontaneously combust
so i can have
my family back
why
why
why
you are
you are
you are

.
..
...
....
...
..
.

i talk a lot about
flying

i like the idea
of it

it doesn't even bother me
that those that fly, fall

i'll cheat the system
i'll have a rope

catch
me