Sometimes, I like to think
That everything
Happens
Not by chance,
Random, meaningless events,
Brought on by luck,
But because

The whole universe is in a jar
Owned by a giant child
Who writes
All of the stories for everyone.

All of the planets
Are little marbles
Hung on string
And glitter stars
Twinkle by.
The nebulas are dust bunnies
Glowing, bursting with color.
And we are tiny specks of dust
With a little touch of magic
Called life,
On a particularly bluey green marble.
The little giant child calls
Earth.
(He meant to call it Earl,
After his uncle, but he can't write
Very well.)

And guess what?
Everything happens
Because this gigantic Junior
Writes them in
A notebook
He hides under his bed
So his friends won't think he's a wimp.

P.S. This universe was made
As Junior's science project.
He got a B+.