On days where I stay still,
my heart tries to break free from my chest.
The rambles of my mind echo off the walls of my skull,
ricocheting around,
and their sound only makes me clench,
my fingers twitch,
my knee bounces
as my eyes glass over, staring
out the window and through time.
On days where I’m in motion
my heart still races but
it goes at the same pace
at which I jump in
and out of conversations,
up and down the stairs,
and all around the streets.
I fly, untied
yet numb
with all there is to know.
And so,
instead of knowing,
information glazes over
like the wind:
touching my skin
yet never breaking
through it.
It seems I’m molding in reverse,
moving fast in slowness,
slow in fastness,
loud when I want silence, and
muted when I want noise.
What if it’s all a tactic toward
avoidance?
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