Be quick.
Yet be still.
You’ll become the hummingbird’s night song,
sweet child.
You are brave,
but also weak.
Yet,
so blinded on hope,
which is only in yourself,
you go beyond words,
labels,
and choices made for those,
who have a chance.
Which by far,
that is not true,
petty clichés can’t even,
bend down on making it,
with guessing,
whole.
And for that,
there is nothing else to say,
but to go . . .
where on the path,
back or forth,
is just how you wish to roll,
the small dice.
May it fair out,
just enough,
that life,
isn’t that bad,
but good,
that makes it enough,
to wake up,
the next day,
and replicate a complex fix of it.
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