Telling myself what to do feels foreign

Telling myself what to do feels foreign
And bends itself into what will turn into the first escape of many
It takes a careful tread and a dissonant listening in order to achieve the uncut smile that spreads across my face

So I scan wildly
Wanting no one’s eye but my own
Desperation and wanton for a hazy comfort that’s flits, floats, and spreads to the edges that become unseeable

I am comfy rolling in the masses
comfy to await the surprise
Slipping in and out of the knock at the door
I am unseeable in my shadows
And heard in the creases because they give respite to the things that fall

And I give respite to me