To the wind blowing at my front door and to the leaves dancing beside the sidewalk, sorry.
When I step out that door, I feel six feet tall, invincible.
Black-Bose headphones and a narrative flowing through my mind,
endless streams of sentences-like a whirlwind
or a small-little kid dancing in puddles with her little rain boots,
those splashes morph into my bursts of ideas and the puddles are my collections of inspiration.
My little-little head dreams of clouds reaching places higher than the atmosphere.
When I step on a leaf tumbling down, down, down
the first impact feels mirrored,
I've done this a million times
I have twigs as arms,
a stone for a brain,
and I have a plum for a heart.
Feels like I'm moving but my eyes aren't.
the tennis ball leaves the ground,
then appears in a flash,
stuck in a moment in time,
my stone brain is too heavy to keep up,
my eyes as wide as saucers,
it barely misses and I can't register.
some people overreact,
others laugh it out
but I can't pass the fact that I nearly lost an eye.
Sorry.
I push the thought to the back of my mind, locking it with a chain and key.
It's easy to leave problems as is,
ignore a destined fate until it's sealed,
What can I say, I'm the master at a poker face,
no friends.
no life, erased.
my choices are made,
and by the time my brain de-fossilizes, it's too late.
By the time I get on that yellow, crowded-humid bus, my eyes find comfort staring down, down, down,
my feet crushing the crispy, red-tinted leaves,
and the tall me shrinks,
back home I go, to the four-foot-tall me,
with a hunched back and feeling ten times as old,
welcome home.
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