lumberthe contradiction of being built for both grace and destruction. you were given wings and you still reached for the axe — because rising feels incomplete without something to cut through first. some people ascend gently. others have to hack their way up.
piece of hopethe stubborn absurdity of tenderness in hostile conditions. you have armored yourself against everything the world is putting in the air — and still you extend your arm, still you offer the small fragile thing, still you hold it out like it matters. because it does. that's the whole point.
playthe exhaustion of performing competence while everything that made you yourself streams away behind you. the suit stays pressed. the hands stay still. but the mind has been leaving for a long time now, and the toy on the ground is the only honest thing left.
portalthe ache of knowing the door is open and still not being able to walk through it. you are so close — glowing, waiting, written on the wall — and yet here you are, on the ground, turning inward instead. not every portal is entered the moment it appears.
poundthe bewilderment of loving too much in a world that finds it excessive. you are all instinct and sincerity, wearing your heart where everyone can see it — not as vulnerability, but as a statement. this is what i am. come at me or don't.
stop thisthe exhaustion of showing up with beauty in both hands to a world that keeps making it necessary to wear armor. you came with flowers. you always come with flowers. and still you have to protect yourself just to stand here and say: enough. this has to stop.
surplusthere are people who burn too bright for the spaces they're asked to occupy. they show up anyway — composed, contained, dressed for it — while everything above the neck is already somewhere else entirely, already combusting with what they know and feel and cannot turn down.
tracefault
