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This is the burden that I carry
that I nobody else sees:
the house is filled with smoke
from unfulfilled undertones of
freedom in jazz songs I make
the mistake of listening to when
I am anything but free, from envy
of voices and roads that sway
to sweet, exotic winds towards
a morning on the other side
of the blue horizon,
from echoes of noises that creep
low on hardwood floors and under
furniture and give my clothes
the stale odor of lingering despair.
And whenever I imagine myself
getting away to breathe better air,
the farthest I get inside my mind
is the top of the front steps
with my back to the house and
the front door open, waiting for
my moment’s notice return,
my guilt ticking on my ears,
with messy hair and wearing
my faded house clothes, my keys
not on my person but still hanging
by the hook on the kitchen wall.

“Alejandria” by photographer カルロス


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