Planetoid
May 10 2025
If only I could return
to my home planet.
How long has it been?
Why is memory so hard?
Are there others like me
who feel just as out of place?
As if dropped
in an empty lot
in a one-stoplight town,
choking on exhaust
in a cloud of dust
as the bus lumbers off.
Others like me
who don't fit in
and long for acceptance?
Who feel like the new sweater
you got for Christmas
where the shoulders bind and fabric itches,
with the pesky tag
at the back of the neck
you can’t get rid of?
So time and again
you scratch and squirm,
tugging the sleeves and stretching the hem
determined
that in the fullness of time
you'll make it fit.
Or better said
you it.
Others like me
who long for belonging,
but were never shown
the secret handshake
insider’s code?
How do the rest of them know?
Did I somehow miss the memo?
Others like me
who feel like a small planetoid
in the system's frozen fringe?
Circling eccentrically
in the outer extremities
where the sun is just a star,
and doesn’t so much grip
as lightly tug.
So just a nudge
and you could fly off,
slingshot out into the cosmos
and not be missed,
no one even notice
you’ve gone.
Or should I be asking
if the home planet even exists?
Could it be
that we're all mostly oddballs and misfits
who only think we’re different?
All our lives
performing normalcy
and searching for home,
not knowing
we’ve been there all along.
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