This is the finding of yourself

On a mat as your workbench

Your hand steadied your heart with a pencil

And everyone around you saw it.

You uncovered a part.

 

When the birds flew away

You held one back and

Put yourself in its cage

To grow a heavy feather.

 

Heap of flesh

Back bended

Heart pulling you down because you refuse to let go of anything bad.

Hanging alive.

 

You are searching

Not looking

But finding,

On a mat alone when no one knows you,

Yourself.

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