Notebook Poem

I fly over Nova Scotia, I swim the ocean blue. I land in New Orleans and eat Poe Boy or two. I am not the person people expect me to be. I'm not warm, I'm not over and I am not in between. I'm living in my car now, I sold all my stuff. Not because I needed money, because I had too much. I'm writing this in a notebook, that no one will ever read. So why am I still pretending I'm who they'd think I'd be? I am in between the margins, these words are just me clothes. That I wear to cover up, what I want no one to know. Jungle Green, Magenta, and Underwater Blue. I love every single color, Teardrops + Balloons