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)