Truth.

I am feeling telekinetic.
A burning sensation in the tips of my fingers
An electric titillation flowing through my veins.

There is an unseen ability
An unrecognized power
With which I can move mountains
With which I can change lives.

And sitting here, the snow falling outside my window pane
Resting upon the glass and frosting my world with a soft hue of white
A blinding lack of color
Burning my corneas with the image of twirling webs of ice
Flying through crisp air

I watch the world.

And sitting here, the wind flying into the walls of my house
Pushing against the cement shelter with incessant howling
A deafening moan of anguish
Filling my ears with the sound of god finally giving up
Sliding past my house and onto the next

I watch the world.

The snow is falling
The wind is flying
The trees are silent
Enduring with strength, the assault of the elements

And so am I.

I am feeling telekinetic.
A burning sensation in the tips of my cold fingers
An electric titillation flowing through my restless veins.

But looking in
Past snow
Through wind
In between barren branches
Of silent victims
And seeing a placid girl watching the world through a frosted window pane

You would never know.