Why I am here

Things to say,
write,
for others
read.
I’m angry.
Disheveled,
like the mane of a wild horse
whose been running free.

I envy its freedom
the ability to go
wide,
narrow, 
spaces.

vast
or dense
I wish I knew the words
to think
are they right? 
wrong?
make sense?
lack meaning?

Afraid,

and doubting,
judgement,
criticism,
none of it matters.

It weighs me down
like tons of water
pressed upon my chest
Like the crest of a wave
crashing down 
beating the sand 
into thousand of pieces

all for it to come together

like nothing happened.

the warmth of my breath 
hardens
can you hear?
understand?
In the end
that is why
I am

here.

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