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.
Hitchhiker 