Existing With Little Success

How freezing it can feel, with the sun hot at mid-day!
With layers of cotton on you and not a trickle of sweat.
A steamy cup, you think, would do but it turns out hot!
Your breath is foggy at mid-day, within, you freeze…

Stares haunt as you walk, they breathe ice into the air;
The air that feels stuffy to exist in, to breathe in—
Discomfort wells like drums of war, and drum it drums!
You wish of your sore feet what they cannot deliver.

But, o’, what place feels safer than home?
You sit among humans, feeling odd, feeling absent;
You have your humans, but they look nothing like them—
They do not talk, look or ask; they only exist within you.


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