I sometimes feel suffocated.
There isn't enough fresh air in the world
To help me breath deeply.
One inhale and it would all be used up.
I could drink all the oceans and
Melt the glaciers
And my head would continue to throb
From dehydration.
I look around and I am a giant.
The earth isn't vast enough.
When I stand, my head hits the ceiling.
I want something grander.
I want to hold one long, loud note
Until the vibrations cause earthquakes.
Break through the earth-ceiling
And find myself in outer space.
I won't feel claustrophobic there.

I don't fit
Very well
With most people.

I am shy, and sweet.
Strange and terrifying.
Small and delicate.

I am something that
Most people do not know
How to love.

And that's okay.

I don't need their love.

I don't need to fit.

*But, God, do I want to.

I'll never understand how they live with themselves.
They condemn death only when it suits them.
They judge those who speak their minds
While embracing a nation of child-killers.

I'll never understand how they live with themselves.
Sleep must be hard to come by when you
Endorse the murders of millions of children
With no more thought than a gardener pruning a pesky ****.

I'll never understand how they live with themselves.
They extinguish the fragile flames of would-be daughters and sons
And explain that this heinous crime is
Not only acceptable, but essential.

I'll never understand how they live with themselves.
It must be nearly impossible to stand up straight
When the burden of innocent lives swings from your shoulders.
Death is so heavy, even if the souls are small.

i collect them like some people collect buttons
jotting each one on whatever i can find
a scrap from a brown paper bag or a napkin
i'll forget them if i don't

i write endless lists of them
string them together and let them dangle like daisy chains
search for them on globes and in dictionaries
saving them for the perfect moment,
when they fit into place so perfectly
it makes my heart ache

You left me stranded that summer.
I came to you with a smile, expecting one in return
But you handed me contempt and rejection.
It stuck to my hands, so I carried it with me.

I thought you saw something in me that you couldn't stand,
Something rotten that hadn't been there before.
I tried clawing it out.
I tried to change myself to bring you back.
I wondered if you realized how much you'd damaged me.
Or if you cared.

I finally realized it wasn't my fault.
That my hands were stained from helping you up countless times,
Not from my own soul.
It was your choice to make me feel small.
But now I've washed my hands of you.