Filling Station

I find myself feeling oddly left out, forgotten,

left behind.  Skipping stone I was and am again.

A familiar feeling, as if I am home, am I stuck?

Perhaps just growing at a fractional rate,

not wanting to rush life, yet still missing out.

The feelings felt are for a time, and I

want a time to last.  I don’t want a trivial thing

but I know I want something, that look,

that intrinsic desire. I want to fly, to spread

my wings and flap like a chicken, coming

close but never reaching the goal.  Fuel.

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