Boy.

I am a bucket of dust

I am a grocery bag filled with flowers.

Megaphones and cough drops

keep me going every day

while

memories and vacant hours

kill me along the way.

So far

I've survived these

bedhead months

and

my two left feet.

But,

at the same time,

I'm just a paperclip

on some forgotten envelope.

I'm a lemon drop candy

That's melting in the sun.

I've got patched-up dreams,

I've got shattered knees,

and

I'm never really sure of me.

I’m a paper airplane,

a bit crumpled and bent

but I'm doing my best

to find my way

in the wind.