Poem

Walking through the park, I am compelled at least once per journey to stray off the designated path, sodding my feet in wet mud, breaking blades of grass, taking small steps into the wild– a faint rejection to being told where to go, where not to be; this is starting to feel like life: a constant navigation through boxes, the desire to dip toes outside their walls. Upon rusty, wet leaves, taking off my face, I unwrap in the limelight of the big show, let out a small, barbed yawp, unheard beyond bud stuffed ears, into a clouding blue sky.