twenty years have gone by & I'm not living yet not comfortable in the climate of my home I always seem to be pulling on sweaters turning up heaters piling on blankets when everyone else seems fine.
thirteen years have gone by & I'm just starting to remember just starting to sit down shut up listen to the things, people happening in, around me really hear; really appreciate, let myself be moved honestly when everyone else seems hurried, unaffected.
seven years have gone by since I stopped being like other kids my age started walking with bricks in my bookbag scars on my thigh & the constant threat of pins-&-needles headaches endless lists & workweeks never getting everything done everyone else seems lighter, walking in other gravity realms.
not done yet but I'm still thinking of where I want to go next