I wear other people’s clothes.
I can’t resist wanting to know what it’s like to be you.
Maybe it’s better than being me.
Maybe it’s a bit of relief from being me.
A north star, because being me is disorienting.
Quiet and disorienting in that no one has taught me to read the shapes
To divine out of the puddles
Meaning, or what i feel, or what I’m supposed to do.
Apparently the harder path is easier.
So after this,
I content myself with the unreadable scribbles in the ash.