trees

Thoughts on when I was little and why I had to grow up.

thunder crashes, dries
the ground, heavy with the tears
of clouds-
homes for angels,
way up in the sky.
don't they get motion sickness?
or afraid that they will fall?
a thousand questions for every
answer I receive.

the trees sound like space ships,
and I can't tell you why
because the man in the
pin striped suit
isn't in my backyard, but sometimes
i still wish he was.

fingerprints melt into words,
paper and notebooks replace
the light.
everything is fading
into the background.

in my closet there's a
stolen silhouette,
it changes shapes because
what I am is what I am not
and what I am not
is who I used to be.