My mind is a taxi in traffic not driven by me. In fact, I'm not even in the taxi. I'm walking.
My heart is foreign currency currently burning a hole in my pocket. Too bad I can't spend it on mending what has been broken for so long. I blow it on whistles and bows instead.
My hands don't know what they are quite yet. Give them time. They're still young. Their life line creeps up onto the arm.
My feet are slices of watermelon, seed-free. They slip and slide with juices and sugar and stay fresh when wrapped up inside. But let the boys eat them on the stoop. It's summer, we're hot.
And I have blisters on my feet. And my hands ache from holding the weight of the world. And I don't know where my heart leads me, but I hope it hails me a taxi cab soon. I've got places to see and people to be.