Everyone

​Everyone, is so different Everyone, is so vague, empty trash bags, compared to my scrapyards. I feel the world, I feel life harder than the swing of Babe Ruth harder than a dictionary, to a blind person and more intensely, than a terroristic attack than a broken heart Pain sticks, people leave, but never truly leave It is my gift, that I have such a care as if everyone is my children But if everyone was my child, I would be so disappointed So much cheating, killing, stealing, raping, So much tragedy, sadness carelessness a disease as incurable and inevitable, as death. And that is so, so sad I feel that, like with each ounce of carelessness, is a pound of pain that sits atop my twig of a heart But in times like these, I wish I could be that, Careless.