Grab me, squeeze me, hold me dear.
To leave this box, is something I irrationally fear.
To bounce around is all I ever knew-
like a friendship that never bothered to grow root.
Mentally, I lug around the scars of a past I survived.
I want none of this.
To disappear with my notebook
sounds like a tune I’d learn to whistle.
Alone, I have plenty of time-
to harvest, to cultivate.
Anxious to learn, but blocked by a money trap I am unwilling to dance with-
I am present without conventional opportunity.
Are these words audible?
Someone process me,
acknowledge my existence regardless of its microscopic nature.
Just for a minute,
sixty seconds- could even be less…
Just be there for me to know I exist beyond my mirror’s
reflection.
Poetry
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