Shape Of A Hitchhiker

By Ashleigh Hatter

I'm not sure I'm fine,
but I'm here.
I'm not sure if that means much,
but maybe it makes a world of difference.
Maybe it does.
But I can't be sure.

There's a candle store I like going to,
but when I approached, it was closed.
And there's a movie I like watching,
but my copy was scratched and broken.
I like lots of things.
But most are unreachable, forever.
Sometimes I imagine when I bleed,
the blood comes out as smoke.
And other times I think that our spirits dance when we're asleep
and they come out as smoke.
Imagining things is my nature.
But nature isn't up for my imagining.

I'm sure there's a world where I'll fit in
where my denim and my dreams are welcome
And I'm sure there's a person who will like me
and like the shampoo I use.
There's a world out there for me,
But I don't think it's this one.

I'd like to leave and go to that other one,
but I lost my boarding ticket years ago,
and now I'm left trying to hitchhike to somewhere
less/lonely
less/painful
less/human
more/welcome

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