go far away by a bus and a plane
or through the waves of the ocean on the pier of your thoughts
and the mind of others who you try to think about,
but you can’t see if they get it
or if they are distant or if they see like i see myself in a mirror
or through stained rusted glass like a door locked to a child that isn’t experienced
or can’t reach
trapped like a cat in a box or at the front door,
indoors hidden is rapunzel whose hair flows and is her outlet, like writing is mine and art is another’s.
whereas we all feel insecure in this habitual world of thoughts and actions
that work together to create one. who is this one? the stripes that are our living experiences
make us across oceans and matter like matter that makes a flower in a cemetery
or like bird poo on a car that gets washed off by your mother’s fat turned into soap.
it spurs out of the car through a switch within you.
you decide that clarity is better than clearance
like the old rags and mugs you see in the second hand shop you and mom visit.
little children are amazed by others but they cannot show love other than through fighting and learning
and in turn you learn from them or you should.
or else it won’t change like a band aid getting ripped off.
time is still unless things move like a motorcycle rolling, zooming down a hill.
the hill you’ve just climbed.