We are in a little sphere
Connected by a thread of paper
That will snap if I move the wrong way.
I always thought that we were lengths apart:
When you walk, you fly
When I walk, I fall
You are miles up and yet
We are the same.
Still, I am secure in my knowledge of the ground
While I have only to look up and observe
The cunning stars pasted in the sky
Are we really the same?
Your stomach is so large and written all over
It’s dirty and plastic and I am frail
Too frail to watch you grow
This strength that I lack is grinding me
Into confident pieces.
You’re right, though:
I’d rather be whole and
Ignorant.
