Sometimes I feel
I can see through the air
Not the air
But the air
Beyond light
The one
That gives life
To the world that sits over
This Earth without blocking
Our sight.

The seasons shift and change,
Flowers wilt and die to bloom,
The stars burn- dim or bright but they do.
And I? I remain the same.

I keep running round in a glass cage,
They all see me but not the weight.
Trapped and tired and all in vain,
And yet when I trip and finally fall,
I ask myself- why can't I change?

Lately my words have felt
like bullets that only
graze the edge of the target.
A feeling of emptiness saturates
my mouth as I speak.

Lately I feel like
the validity of my presence
is tied to some word count.
Like my existence
is an essay that I must write,
I just cannot find the right words.