The real Me that’s not as powerless in speaking, submissively wind up, passively accepting the World’s opinion, as I see fit to agree, to keep my peace.
This Me is released in private,
as chased thoughts are gathered and carried by the wind’s tease,
As a feather light breeze, of mid Summer’s need, to kiss my over spoke lips, and close my eyes,
to allow it’s gripping attention to my gyrating hip’s, wildly enchanted by my own music’s scent to be released.
A railroad arm would come in handy as I plan, to stop and track friendenemy’s, with undesirable personal needs, to cross me, taken in by my losses, portraying fair weathered friend abilities, predominantly at my cost.
As my identity is fragrant upon a Linden tilia tree, spreading out my branches, as my roots are rooted in dust as its…
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