How many of the wildest dreams
Only get sewn into the sleeves of the privileged.
Moving onward is almost like moving upward,
Except for when things just stay the same.
Hand me four walls and I'll hand you
One solid excuse for why I couldn't, wouldn't, shouldn't
Move upward.
Explain to me the benefits of a locked door and I'll
Hear you implore reason when I
Only feel trapped.
Maybe my feet will never stop moving, and does it make me
Eccentric, transient, or
Homeless.
One could only assume the worst if only my
Memory of the events weren't
Exactly, and perfectly, like...
HOME.
About the Creator
AJ Ryan
Poet. Thinker. Artist.
Born in the midwest, raised in the southwest, rooted in the shadows of the Rocky Mountains. I am autistic, chronically ill, and only occasionally an optimist. I'm here to scream into something other than a void.
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