I hear you speak your words rhythmic and free.
I too am a stranger here, my words are not my own though I try to forget them.

Mine is the seed who cannot stop its growth or hope to remain wide eyed.

The seed whom in every moment wishes to live in the womb, warmed and unknowing.

Where every experience is new, every peddle concealed from the rain, the suns eyes and the bees wanting.

Living in my anxiety rather than with my anxiety