If I were a bird, I’d fly far away.
If I were a mouse, I’d hide in the hay.
If I were a fish, I’d swim to the bay.
Unfortunately, I’m me, and this isn’t my day.

My curse is my innante nature to always be writing in prose. Some call it a gift, but to me, it’s a nuisance. “Penny poetry,” they called me, a name that haunts me still today. If only there were some place in this world for a poor little poet like me.