So prone to wander


I’m choking on these brighter days,
I’m drowning on words I couldn’t say.
Syllables and consonants flooding my tongue,
Afraid of the damage that these words might have done.
Promises I never wanted to keep.
These are the things that keep me from sleep.

This is a winter inside my soul.

I am internally cold.

I want warmth to thaw the chill inside my bones.
I want to go some place that feels like home.

And people feel like home. They really do.
Something familiar inside them, trading old for new.

There are roots established somewhere for me.
But now I’m filled to the brim with nomadacy.

I want to write goodbyes and change my name.
I want everything to change. I want everything the same.

I feel lost inside a maze with a map without a legend.
My emotional bank has been hit by this recession.
Will I always long for something different than what I know?
Why is contentment elusive? Where does it go?


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