Writing

The beetle flies into 

the lamppost until it 

falls dead on to 

the harsh concrete below

But you want it pretty

I think I will ask God

“Why?”

for the rest of my life.

And never,

Will I ever come to understand it.
 

Even if God Himself ,

came to me to tell me the reason.

Never have I ever 

Ridden a horse 

Fallen in love 

Flown on clouds 

Worn dresses of silk 

Met elves 

I would hate me too

I would hate the way

I talk a lot

When I’m with people

Who I like

I would hate my constant

Chattering

So much

That I’d leave me me on read too

I would hate the way

More fish in the sea

Is all I see

But why can't they just live freely

And happily?

They wouldn't understand

The way they have had to mend

To become a friend

In the end of it all

lights flash / bodies bend / like the minds behind the bathroom stalls / polished tile instead of varnished gym floor / soles (souls) unfit for dancing attempt to replicate that short they stumbled upon last night / dial of pressure cranked to red