• a thought...

    A reality exists wherein the best possible version of you will live forever. This may not be that reality, but it also might be. Regardless, it’s the one we’ve got to work with.

Moving Out

(originally published here in The Commonline Journal)
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Whatever you were seems more than you have become,
but what you lost was dead weight.
A block of wood, hacked, hewn and beaten
carved and cut down smooth and lithe,
Fat from muscle, claw-torn and eaten.
Will tempered in a wicked womb, writhe
and kick, wander-sick and birth-zealous.
Curiosity choked, hand-bitten and fires
stoked, in a small heart, strong of beat and freedom-jealous.
A slow, scarred shell shed – an old voice retires.
A core burns closer to open air, eyes squint to sun,
nostrils flare and tears run,
blood flows, and you’re the only one
with your hands on the wheel now…
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