if there were only a million people on this planet
every single one of them would still say the same thing
"i know what you mean..."
but i can't accept that answer.
not until they've been me,
walked in my shoes
and stood on the sidelines.
no one's like me.
standing on the outside
palms pressed against the glass
watching, observing
everyone go about their business.
their business. not mine.
not a voyeur.
the pressing turns to pounding
to try and get someone, someone
to break their routine and see me
see what i see
sometimes i'm screaming
like i'm screaming for my supper
and when no one notices
i just breathe,
making fog on the glass
to cover my eyes
from everything that i can see
but can't change
or do anything about
and i draw what i imagine
my life should be
if only i could break this glass
