“If I Love You, What is That to You?”


I am little, and I have little things,
They’re so small-
Almost invisible. I think these things,
They can fit right here, yes?
I understand there’s a lot here already,
But I am little
And my things are too.
This thing
It’s glinting! Like a spark
-But it won’t burn
-It won’t hurt. Watch,
I can touch it. Nothing is dead.
Not impressed, no?
I am little,
And my response to rejection
Ought to reflect my stature.
“I am sorry,” or so people say
That are bigger.

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