#175

I was angry back then—
furiously mad.
A big shot, too—
not really.
But I know the feel.
As if I could swallow the whole world
in just one gulp.

Oh, how wrong I was,
a big fish beneath the well
or a big frog in a small pond.

I thought I was—
the last of my kind,
sort of like,
the only one of my extinct species,
the last survivor of my race.

the one who's alone atop—

but much like the prince's rose,
alone beneath its glass dome,

i am alone, yes,
but i am not—
one of a kind.

The feeling of isolation grows more intense
knowing full well
i am among the few,
yet one of many.

I am never special.
It was a lie
i made myself believe.

There's no magic,
no secret,
no great otherworldly being
that guides and dictates me.

It's just me.

Nothing else—

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