Looking outside the window at tree, it sways gently
There is something soothing about it’s rocking motion.
Peaceful, it doesn’t worry.
Something slips through the cracks, as if the rocking breaks the mould.
The force in which some words come out, the spasm in an eye.
A head dips when praised, to hide the pressing of their lips.
Why must it feel this way?
Can one not rock just enough, never always ‘too much’.
Seizing forward with the rocks, grabbing onto threads to try stablise.