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