Roasted Marshmallow

I am not a graceful person.

I am not a Sunday morning or Friday sunset—
I am not the cherry on top of vanilla ice cream during summer or hot chocolate during Christmas eve
I am not a blank paper or a colored painting
I am 1:58 am Tuesday, I am a broken window during February
I am mouldy park bench with the childhood memories
Sometimes I believe that I don't belong around people, that I belong to the leap days that didn't happen
My thought has eaten me up and I apologize for my awkward sadness.