Telling myself what to do feels foreign

Telling myself what to do feels foreign

Telling myself what to do feels foreign
And bends itself into what will turn into the first escape of many
It takes a careful tread and a dissonant listening in order to achieve the uncut smile that spreads across my face

So I scan wildly
Wanting no one’s eye but my own
Desperation and wanton for a hazy comfort that’s flits, floats, and spreads to the edges that become unseeable

I am comfy rolling in the masses
comfy to await the surprise
Slipping in and out of the knock at the door
I am unseeable in my shadows
And heard in the creases because they give respite to the things that fall

And I give respite to me

 Photo by Robbie Sweeny

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