Photocopied trees circle me,
And I feel as though I am being painted,
As though a far away brush has brought us all into existence--

Then a child runs too carelessly,
falls on their face,
And the painting is slightly torn.


I’ve often found myself contorting,squeezing into other peoples’ boxes.Maybe it’s because I’m small.I can fit into places easily. But my stomach hangs over my legs,petruding over the line. Stuffing never helps. Hiding can often reveal more than what was hidden. So I stopped contorting.