Here I stand, a mountain of jelly that cannot be moved.
Here I stand, a lover of hope that cannot be found.
Here I stand, a teary-eyed girl of sensitivity.
But then I move.
I move with no purpose of direction or of drive.
I am the wind that changes thoughts and scatters newly browned leaves.
I am the cattle that stares as the world drives past.
I am the snow that slides under the feet of waxed wood.
I am the volcano that has forgotten to rupture and lays dormant for centuries.
I am the bird that poops on your car and then hurls itself under the wheels of another.
I should have stood still.
Either way, I am wasting my time.