time is still

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.

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