Branches Book

BRANCHES

DIRT ROADS

I can never go down that other path. I am destined to follow courses that freeze over my soul that carry me back to roads that lead me up on stage that bring attention to the memorial. What I mean is my depression looks a lot like Desolation when you hold it up to the light. It sits on my chest crushing tenfold, and I have to wonder just when my body will give out.

It’s just that I’ve grown tired of being me.

I’d like to think that I am still hummingbird, but that part of me seems so far gone.

I’m not in the sky; I can’t be in the sky; I know sometimes, I would have liked to be in the sky but it’s just not that easy

flying when I don’t want to can’t want to fly.

My chest tightens its grip around my soul and yanks me to and fro.

From happy home to dirt roads, I look up at the sky this night and the clouds look exceptionally angry.

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