Wordle #270

I kick at your insulation,
at your smile as it fades
into oration.
I would listen to you talk
all night if it would save me
the enunciation
of my own bungling sentiments.
–
You are not original.
Heel, toe, line
lines flashing,
lines insistent
lines without terminus
or dominion.
–
Without statement
you are trivial and cold.
A park in the depth of winter.
I adhere to your limits,
so much as they admit me.
–
You are a terrible mimic.
My rims quiver and itch.
Alone, in a valley
of infinite selves.
–
My heart flips and fritters.
I am envious of silence,
of open spaces,
of transience
and all who appear
inevitably before me.
–
If only I could tolerate myself
long enough to become someone else.
–
I am really struggling to express myself at the moment. My anxiety has been particularly high lately.

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