I'm a soul constantly force-fed puréed carrots
that needs bread and meat and cheese.
I'm a dusty, broken street lamp
Somehow can't find a way to shine in the night
But finally around the hour of 7am finally flicker on with pride
Right about when I'm not needed anymore.
I'm the waitress who sees a spilled drink
And tries to clean it up but ends up dumping
the rest of the coke on the customer.
I look at my cracked snow globe in the heat of July
And wish for Christmas with all of my unsatisfied heart
And when I'm snowed in and icicles frame my window
I long for the July sun.
A soul that longs for perfection
Like a carnivore living on Tofu
Alive, but never fully satisfied.
I wish for the world to be as it should
For straight A's and always pleasant teachers
For sunny days but no drought
For relationships to heal themselves
For food to magically appear in Africa and China
For every lonely child to be loved
And I mourn and I mourn and I can't feel at home
In a place with so much wrong
I'm not meant for here
My soul cries out
But I've lived in fifteen different countries to fill the void
and none of them are any better.
Is it earth then?
Would I fit in better on Venus or the moon?
No, there's a great longing beyond this universe.
A numb ache that tells me I'm built for much more.