Behind the Glass

The world is too fast—

Or is it too slow?

Is there even such a thing as

"Just right?"

Feeling nothing

Through the motions.

Nothing?

Great distance,

Up to the glass

I am behind the glass,

Trapped,

Trusting,

Unsure.

Separated,

Scared—

Or am I?

Nothing?

Can I feel?

Nothing at all?

Am I nothing at all?

If I can't feel

Then who am I?

Where am I?

What am I?

Am I even an "I"?

Can I trust myself

To stay alive

If I am even alive?

Carpet on the ceiling,

Books off the shelves,

Trees from the sky,

Sidewalk stretching

Farther,

Farther

I'm stuck

In two places

That I don't even know.

But I'm there,

I think,

I hope.

My world is upside-down,

But can I feel it?