In my seashell I lie.
Packaged in a nice neat ball
like the fetus I am.
Needs are met
could ask for more
but I’ll save that.
Content and fed
will do for now.
Daydreams consumed
with running away.
Yet here I remain.
Caged out of my own freewill.
I’m scared.
Won’t bother elaborating
about my achy chest.
To be free
is to be vulnerable.
And each day
I still remain like so.
As seasons fade by
I grow against
my own freewill.
One day my home
will crack to pieces.
Maybe I should
just break free myself…
Nah.
Letting something else
write my story
brings me an eerie comfort.
Fate does all the work.
(Poem 1 of 2021 Half-Marathon)
Strong ending lines:
“Letting something else
write my story
brings me an eerie comfort.”