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.