Let’s keep the door open

to remember it’s not a vacuum outside.



I wonder what it is like

not to have a million possibilities go through my head

like driving rain

before every word I speak

but instead

have every curious question

growing like a daisy in the sun,

too many to trample.


I wish I were a flock of dandelion seeds

so that if one of me catches in a shady place and fails to grow

another of me will make it, somewhere sunnier.


I dream I am Superman

Walking through a crowd of hostile acquaintances

They fling their words at me,

and I laugh, because my skin is impervious to words

They bounce off harmlessly, collect in a pile around my feet,

and I trample them, until they are but letters

which I can use to write a true story