i see things you can’t see,
and i wonder why i’m here in the first place.
nothing to truly take in and ponder,
only mouths speaking somewhat of a different language and heads bobbing up and down to each other.
i don’t belong here.
and i think they see it.
or maybe they don’t care to see me,
but they make sure i see them.
in their hands, they hold trinkets and talk about gold cars and places,
in my hands i hold dust and dirt and make them dance in the wind of my imagination.
i am here
and that’s okay,
because i am allowed
to take up space.
i breathe out.