Just realized, this isn't on here. Now it is.

Being alone is like
Clinging to a string
Tied to a balloon
On a highway to the moon
That ran out of gas.

I want to be 112 feet tall
So that you cannot look away
And whenever I sing
The notes will ring
All the way to the tip of South Africa.

But--alas, I am only 5 foot 6.
If I exaggerate an inch.
You are handsomely tall
I feel 8-year-old small
Standing in the shadow of your ego.

I wanted you to be happy.
I wanted to spill a truckload
Of daisies on top of you
Just to give you a few
Reasons to be alive.

But roses and lilies are
Poison by the weeds of regret
Even the soil of forgiveness won’t
Forget that which we don’t
Have the strength to loosen our grips on.