Intellect is telling emotion it must be stupid.
Yet it is struggling to appease uneasy logic - tottering about as a year old infant would.
All it draws from its shallow well of knowledge is - why? Why again?
You'd think I would be used to exclusion.
My soul feels like melted jelly.
If there wasn't all this bone and tissue holding me in place.
I should have slithered through the cracks between the floorboards.
A seismic shake has cracked the foundation of my little house.
Again.
The roof was looking so pretty.
Yet, knights in school uniforms scoop me up
and dust me off
they put me back on my rocking horse
and make my soul feel like helium balloons,
drifting in the August breeze.
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