When given social permissions to be myself I don’t do constraint or what is termed normal. I’m poetry and flowers and that tea you mentioned in passing that one time. I’m kisses and touches and tears. I’m telling friends that I love them and music, and songs made up and sung right there.
I’m either locked down or free and I don’t know how to be else. And I don’t know that I want to be.
So if you see me smiling for no reason or catch me with tears in my eyes or, on extremely rare occasion, complimenting some random stranger then walking away. Be happy. You’ve caught a rare glimpse past my shell. Something few ever see.
In joy and in pain I, like most of us, am hidden. A false front. A city of doors. A maze without end.
And sometimes…often…I feel so lost
Pelgris 