It's sunny out today,
beautiful weather,
the best we've had in months.

I could be out for a walk,
reading on a sunny boulder in the woods
or even at the beach, listening to the tides.

But here I am, sitting at my desk
writing about what I should be doing
and listening to the children play and the birds sing.

I guess it's a habit.
Not going out.
I got used to it when I had no friends to play with.

I was always inside,
reading, writing,
or attached to a screen.

Never out playing street hockey
or basketball
with the other kids.

I guess I'm used to
shopping concerts and eating
by my self.

But I still miss
those days when I had the chance
to run and jump and shout.

Now here I am,
full of self pity
for opportunities missed and friends never made.

Why does the world see me this way?
My insides on the outside and nothing hidden at all,
when I am only flesh and bone and a map of veins?

Blood flows through me;
chilled at the core but sizzling in my fingertips.
What I touch will char, yet I cannot thaw myself.

Clearly, this is self-reliance.
I wake only to dream of sleeping again,
and breathe only to shut off my wandering thoughts.

My mother taught me to loathe the bitterness
that she herself pushed upon me throughout the years.
I will never forgive her for that.

But Lord (who?)  knows I've come this far.
I refuse to be silenced; it is my turn to speak.
Smother me with your glistening teeth: I will march on.