where are the people
who can’t wake up in the morning
no matter how much sleep they get
and where are the people
that find such comfort in a cup of coffee
who turn to the black liquid sweetened and warm
where are the people
who spend hours alone, just the way they like it
but when someone reaches out,
such appreciation you won’t find in anyone else
and where are the people
who let words fall from their mouths like stones
and words from their pens like precious gems
where are the people
that find heroes in ordinary people
because miracles sound nice but are so unlikely
that the ordinary is just enough, thanks
and where are the people
that remembered to buy bread and cereal
and they let that fill them with such pride
maybe they’ll even get the laundry done too
or maybe that should wait til tomorrow
where are the people
who spend nights turning over in bed
or staring at computer screens
or  flipping pages of books
hoping that tonight, tonight they will go to sleep with good thoughts
and where are the people
who got told growing up that there was so many things they had to be
that now that it’s their turn to become
they are torn between expectation and desire and sheer ability
where are the people
who have already learned that there’s no such thing as an adult
who have realized we’re all making our way in a messed up world
with polite smiles and appropriate clothing
and we are all pretending like we have it together

where are the people
like me
because i think a little connection between us
would make us stop asking
“are there others like me?”