Every little ladybug
that got stuck in my hair at Girl Scout Camp
somehow got out of the tangled mess.
When I woke up it was crawling away,
as if maybe if it were quieter it could stay alive.
All I wanted was to hold it’s microscopic insect hand
and tell it that usually I’m not the one doing the murdering.
Sometimes when I think about how grass makes me break out in hives
I think maybe nature is rejecting me like you did.
I think maybe my skin gives the grass hives.
The Day Lillie’s that my mom refuses to pick
smell like last weeks leftovers, so I take the biggest breath I can
hopefully the plant will feel accepted.
I wish someone would take a breath of my ugliest parts.
Odd how the sun can illuminate every inch of life on Earth, but I can’t find the lamp in the dark.
I am a galaxy with black-holes as fingertips.
The sun is immaculate in the way it saves, and just maybe I’m immaculate in the opposite way.
We couldn’t be more different I think.
And this whole poem is filled with “I thinks.”
Repeated, over and over and over and
I just want to know something.
I don’t want to think
I want to know and see and do