Stop mocking me, you stupid, blank page.

I know.
I can’t fill you like you want.
Like I want.

I know how you feel.
Empty.
Blank.
Full of potential,
Yet simultaneously purposeless and alone.

I wish I were you,
So that someone could fold me into a plane
and send my to some new horizon,
over the edge to a better day.

I’d rather be at the mercy of the wind
and fragile as paper
than a human lost and lonely
in a world that hates and hurts.

Don’t mock me.
I don’t pity you.