Inside

Bubbles hit the walls of the dome and pop. 
Hurting sounds. 
Flinching tree branches. 
Feeling bored in here. 
As if my car won’t start.
No one believes that my car won’t start. 
Or that the dome is getting warped. 
I’m like a failed science fiction story. 
I wish I could turn into a stone and get flicked away. 
I wish I could shrink so that I won’t need to eat much. 
Feeling bored still. 
Bored and trying to be whimsical. 
By playing in the swampy old puddles. 
In this place where it never rains but has endless, sloshing puddles. 
I think everyone else is happy. 
Rusty water hits my face again.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2025

Poem

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