Paper

I feel like a screwed up piece of paper blown around in the wind; then at night I unravel it and try to read the misprint through the blotches of blood and tears. 

I am a seed dried up in the sun without water. Without protection. flourishing without purpose. 

I am a waste of space. I improve nothing in this world. I make no difference. No one does. Leave it to God and trust in his plan. What if god has forgotten about me and left me in his to do pile? I think this is the case. Give her imposed moments of happiness and she’ll be right mate.