How it feels to be a P.

I sit and I dream

of the things that already surround me.

My starry eyes cant focus

on what stares me in the face.

They begin to wander

like sputnik satellites intertwined with the stars.
While the little girl in my heart huddles beneath her desk for shelter.

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I've lost my Identity.

Have you seen it

floating in the sea?

Hanging out in parking lots?

Smoking cigarettes by the docks?

Swinging from the trees?

All these lives it could live

tempting away from me.

Crawl home on broken knees.

The rug has been pulled from you,

silly Identity.