The urban world is not my home. I do not wish to elevate my being to higher levels, unless they are higher frequencies or higher forms of self. I do not wish to climb a ladder or to climb any stairs towards another floor with chairs and desks. Chairs that will curve my spine such that my shoulders round and my chin tucks so that all I can see are my fidgeting feet. I do not wish to look up hundreds of glass floors or to push myself past another. I wish to look up to the tree canopy in the sky and to hold hands with moss, as it is softer than you could ever be. I wish to walk away from my house and to find home again. Grass’s cushion is medication for my “disorders”. The wind off the river fills me with all the company I need.
I repeat, if I walk far enough, I’ll reach the trees as I walk away from my house to find home again.
