The sign said, “welcome”, so I opened up and I went in,
Thought I could move within and along.
But the faces were strange
And it seemed oh so plain,
Here was a place
Where I don’t belong.

There was a table before me where I thought I could sit
To devour the radish and bask in the song.
But gold brick shattered the plate
And the minstrels were late.
It turned out to be another place
Where I don’t belong.

And the next door led to another room
The lock was not so strong.
I wanted to fit,
Even expected it,
But it was another place
Where I don’t belong.

Down the street another stop to observe,
And I’ll wait among the throngs.
Perhaps here’s where I’ll see
Some people like me.
But it was another place
Where I don’t belong.

Alone on a walk, no need to talk.
Somehow isolation doesn’t seem wrong.
And it could be good,
This silent solitude.
Maybe
Here is the place I belong.

what she knows. But
she doesn't know
me. She knows all
she's read and heard, things

that I've done, places
I've gone.  She's drawn her
conclusions on those
alone. She hasn't picked up

the phone to talk. She sees
what she sees. But she doesn't
see me. She sees pictures
on screens. So, she knows

how I look. But she hasn't
looked in my eyes. She hasn't
seen me cry. She hasn't held
my hand. She doesn't know my plans.

I only grow flowers with thorns.
Beautiful from afar,
Their petals softer than skin after shea butter,
But poison to the touch.

Their scent so captivating,
You can't help but search for it,
Only to be knocked out once found.

Those brave enough to pick up the stem
Will always regret it.
These thorns are razor sharp,
And they love to embed.