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in the air and on the ground


I feel very lost, and also quite found.

In the air,

and ontheground.

At t w e n t y – s e v e n, my pigment is becoming true.

A brighter,

more ambient

hue.

Some moments long, and others

f r o z e n

in time.

Quick to release, and

slow to say

g o o d b y e.

I cry and hurt

for the well of pain, I feel.

Dug deep into my soul,

is also happiness and zeal.

Simple as the

l i g h t n e s s

of each rain drop.

Falling all the way from the skies above and

landing

gently on

my eyelids.


This is who I am, insecurities interwoven.

Not without fear or anxiety—but with pure sobriety.

I can see the fog.

And cut the haze.

Most challenging are the present days.

Can she come, too?

The part of me that isn’t as true.

Not as shiny or attractive

as the rest.

This part of her isn’t better, not close to her best.


It’s the side she wishes to hide.

To keep locked away.

For maybe if you see this side,

you’ll too want to hide.

The places she goes

only in her mind

are the beautiful

spots

water, wind, and light raindrops.

Here

in

this

moment.

I am neither ego nor soul.

I am

raw.


My brow knitted. As I try to understand.


My head

in the

clouds

and my

feet stuck

on land.

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