finally a freedom

from living under others, carrying houses like a snail.

away from hiding, hearing, hurting:

it’s great to be alone.

un.lonely, not unloved.

not unloveable, not I.

but on a road and on a trail.

happy trails, i’m hearing me.

i throw the un from the window as i roll on,

and lo!

there are those parts others cannot hear,

whispering the secrets i’ve always known,

to my upturned, eager ear.


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