My body is achy.
It's foreign and dull
It's made of popcorn and paper
Brittle and frail.
And it feels like I'd like to pause and not be, because this thing here is not life. Life is supposed to be trees and rain showers outdoors, long walks; not a bent spine. This is not my life.
But my body is busy right now making money.
Maybe I can check in with myself later.
Maybe I'll find another way
Now that I ended up constructing this into love.
But who knows and who cares, anyway.
I'm busy right now.
I love you.
Sometimes it's hard to see through myself.
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario