They ask me how I am
when I am walking in
to start the normal day,
and I cannot say
I wish that I could run
away forever.
They call me on the phone
asking why I’ve not been home,
or paid the debts I owe
from saving up some time.
It gets so easily lost
I can’t remember where it is,
but some cheap magnifying glass
has never helped me
solve a mystery before.
So I’ll take a little break
and run my hands through all the grass
like it was mother nature’s hair
against my skin.
I will not leave behind my chariot
with both its headlights broken in
that I’ve relied on for so many
endless nights.
I tell myself to get lost
like I expect they’d want me to,
but there is nowhere else
that I can make my way.
Now I am sitting in some city park
where I do not belong and I am pondering
why I am so afraid.
Teleporting Typewriter 