The Writer

I have no home,
So I lie in the grass.

I feel no pain,
So I pretend to cry.

I do not "fit in",
But neither do you.

I don't have much,
But I do have words.

My words are my world.

They are my doorway
out of this life of mine.

I could be a new person
With a new choice,
Or a run-a-way grandma
Who is in a chase,
Or even a very fancy grape.

I could live in a world all of my own.

One that I create all on my own.

I could live on a green moon,
Or a purple Mars.

I could live a life that I want.

A life like a dream.

A life like a cloud in the breeze.

And no one can stop me,
Oh no,
Not even you.