It’s lonely to be different, or to think differently than all the very loud people screaming around you. But that’s ok, there’s plenty of beauty in the world to find. I wrote and illustrated this during a maddening time in history. I had these little shiny pink 6x6” books printed along with stickers, and mailed these out to anyone who gave me $16.

A Song for My Bug

here I sit inside my tent;
my bug inside a jar.
i wonder where it is they went?
it seems like very far.

the Poppers, they all popped.
the Ploppers, they all plopped.
the hop-happy Hoppers,
well of course all of them hopped.

the Maybes, they all maybed.
the Sures, they all were sure.
the Golden Goldies, every one,
were all certainly pure.

but who was i?
what could i do?
where was it i should go?

so...

i tried to be a Glower,
but it turns out i don't glow.
i tried to see if Fluffies
were the better way,
but... no.

the thing i was perplexed by,
is that they all seemed to know.
and I've never been quite certain,
why it was that this was so.

the Snappers kept it snappy,
which you figured they would do.
the Cloudies mostly obfuscate,
for they hate skies of blue.

i found it oh so boring
finding no one who would skew,
up or down or zig or zag,
or anywhere that's new.