43 turns around the sun and I still can’t find myself in the placement of things. We’re all spinning on this same rock, we’re all headed in the same direction straight toward the end. Why should I even care? What difference do I make at all, impossibly small in this universe, and more specifically, in yours? All I get from you are mixed signals and stop signs. This train is derailing, and I just want to find my way home.

Today’s poetry prompt words were: placement, impossibly small, and stop signs.

_{Photo by NASA Hubble Space Telescope on Unsplash}