I can’t gain any weight,
I will never like my height,
I won't look in my mirror,
Cause there's bound to be,
This boy who's so incomplete.

Phasing in and out,
Picking at the yellow grout,
Taking a bite of raw trout,
Inside my tub, my hideout.

Sometimes I feel so real,
Other times I’m Saint Gabriel,
Sending letters out my tracheal,
The atoms of mine wholly immaterial.

Befriending a nightmare or two,
They are my disappearing purple glue,
Holding the sole of my irreplaceable shoe,
The padding inside is sky-blue powdery mildew.