The door

You feel the difference

when you’re not shown

what you give,

when you run

just to get somewhere

in time

and the other

doesn’t even 

show.

You feel the difference

when you’re walking

against the flow, 

pushing against the door

that is opening

but ever so heavy

ever so slowly.

If only I was stronger

smarter

quicker

prettier

I would receive what I think

I deserve?

A sense of justice?

A question of time?


But I put myself

on trial:

I need to believe

I am enough. 

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Endless

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The Quiet places