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At least I Feel

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The fog of the sunset tickles and warms my skin as we pass through it.
Thrust me into the arms of the lonely man on the street corner whose reflections are disapproving stares.
At least I feel.
I want to climb the tallest tree while the branches sway and snap at random.
Let me give into every plush pink lip that I yearn to tickle with my own.
At least I feel.
Plop me onto the skateboard with all of my childhood friends as we hold hands and sail down the long steep street into the flames of hell.
At least we feel.
Roll me naked through the prickly grass as we laugh with the infested with the dangers of bugs and disease.
Dirty every inch of me with the mud and blood of centuries.
At least I feel.
I’ll climb out the window, play hopscotch with the homeless while they live the same lives as billions before them.
At least I feel.
Pour the misty tears of overflowed joy and despair of centuries down my throat.
At least they felt.
Let me slowly walk for miles through the crowd of hatred beaming through their silent lips.
Let my body commit the actions that reflect opened-mouths and raised eyebrows.
At least I feel.





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