alien

around me,

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. 

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