Lost and Found

I’ve been having an argument with myself about life.

I’ve been looking for life’s lost and found.

I’ve been looking for what I do own and I don’t.

Everyone owns a name, right.

No I haven’t found what’s there in the name

But some names that always cause

something to fall inside of me.

There are some vital organs of mine

made of paper and I’ve found that

a lot of people like to light matches for fun.

I’ve found out that how home is not a place

But a feeling you get to see certain people.

I don’t have butterflies in my stomach then.

I have skydivers and they all forget their parachutes.

My workplace sits around 70% woods and I wish I had wings.

Every evening at five, a zillion birds socialise at a high pitch.

I've found out that even they rant about not being free,

They’re also pissed for being chained to the sky.

While I write this, I've found out

I cannot tell and you cannot listen about the loss, 

but only feel.