of people. Their noses high as a spire
on the church steeple. I’m the elephant
in the room or hidden dust that didn’t
catch the broom. I wander around

like a clown wearing a red painted
smile upside-down. I hate this isolation,
feeling like the train has left the station. As I
stand on the platform out of breath. To chase

it'd be my death. I miss the forest,
where the branches dance and the birds
sing in chorus. Where the rivers run. And the only
thing set is the sun waltzing on the horizon. It’s no

surprise then, I don’t fit in. I stick out
like a candlepin. Standing to be knocked
down. Counting the seconds till my hundred
breakdown.