Waiting to find my place in the world;
Like the wrong puzzle piece I don’t fit.
I try to round my edges because
Might just snap in, like I showed up wrong
and nobody knows who I am...
I feel the warmth and love of those around me,
But I am a burning, anxious flame.
Afraid to speak,
for fear of being branded a miscreant or a misanthrope.
Although depending on your perspective either one may be true.
But I do it anyway.
I feel like I’m wearing a human suit that doesn’t quite fit, right?
but I’m passable.
Mediocre in my magnificence.
I squirm in my suit,
this suit of fat,
this 41 year old human body that has carried my tired ass through hell and back.
I squirm in my mind--
neurons in my brain like maggots flinging specs of dirt and muck about.
Riding on the rapid fire train,
stealthily sleeking out of sight.
Disembodied snores surround me,
like the death rattle of late night.