most hours of the day, i am content by myself.
i have become an expert of weaving myself through people on a sidewalk with little interaction. i have accomplished the straight face of empathy and apathy. and even in the most public of situations, i can diminish myself to dirt in the carpet.
i live inside the caged, locked up, without a key container that is my body.
i see people and i hear people outside, walking up the stairs and to the door.
just because you knock doesn't mean i'll let you in.
this porch light only illuminates for a few; insects.
and if you are in, you should reflect on that, and how difficult it was for me to grant you that access, and consider yourself one of the few lucky ones.
sometimes days are good, sometimes they're bad.
i hate that i am a never-ending calendar of feeling.
if you can't bear the f-word, you probably shouldn't play this. but i love her right now.
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