text | Wet hands

Faces turn and stare at me. lower their brows and disgust in me. keep their nostrils high and laugh at me. spit on their hands and shame on me. I spin a circle and turn around send myself through the ground and dirt. In my hands I hold the earth then I throw it in the trash. Another persons treasure too be found. Rummage through the endless miles. I see worth in what I cannot have. They will not sell. I will not buy. I don't want too own. They don't want too be possessed. I offer too swap but they detest. Then I give up. I walk home alone too the house where I live. I sit there and force myself too forget. I remember the laughter and the hate directed at me, but that's all for the better, its all there too help me. one day I won't be so sick. Aeroplanes flown by a nice boy from a nice family. Messages sent from wet hands that perverts spit upon, all the better for me too not be one of them.

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