Prelude: 25 & alive

Twenty-five and alive,

but who am I?

Throat constricts;

don’t know, from what?

Maybe their all as happy as it seems.

The modern day facade of happiness invades my thought stream.

Booking flights across the Eastern Hemisphere

because maybe you’re as real as you seem.

Aircraft takes flight based on hopes and dreams.

Twenty-five and alive,

but what am I?

I’m not a poet,

but I know I feel at home with a pen in my hand.

Back and forth in my mind,

I’ll admit sometimes I don’t even understand.

As conscious in each moment, as I allow myself to be;

taking space out of time everyday in effort to connect with the innermost untouchable me.



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